Whisper Plantation
by SamoaPhoenix9
Summary: An AU Beauty and the Beast fanfic from the author of Nightingale, set during the American Civil War. The Beast is a plantation owner with a dark secret. More than that...well, read on! Kplus for slavery issues.
1. A Single Star

**Whisper Plantation**

_ Chapter 1_

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**Disclaimer:** This story is based on Disney's Beauty and the Beast, which of course I do not own any part of.

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_The little girl laughed as her father swung her around and around. She was in her pure white night shift, trimmed with lace, all ready for bedtime. But first, there was a special ritual to enact._

"_All right, my sweet one. What shall the story be tonight?" He laid her gently on her mattress._

"_Papa!" the child laughed as she snuggled down under her handmade quilt, "You ask me the same thing every night!"_

_He laughed as well, tucking her floppy rag doll in beside her. Stroking her cheek gently with one finger, he said, "And every night you give the same answer. But remind your old father once again: what story do you want to hear tonight?"_

"_Oh, Papa, don't be so silly. You _know_ what story! _ The_ story. The best story in the world."_

_At this, her father knew his cue to give in. "Very well, my daughter. But are you certain you will be awake for the end? It's already quite late, and your Mama will…"_

"Papa!_"_

_He laughed again, and she settled down at the deep, soothing sound of his voice as he began._

Now you must remember that this story takes place in a different age than the one you were born into. An age of heroes, it was, and also an age of villains. It was a time when every man and woman needed every ounce of courage they possessed.

For our great country of America was at war, brother against brother. North against the South. It doesn't matter, for this story, why the war started. It only matters that terrible things were happening all around. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This story really begins several years before the war broke out. There was a certain Georgian plantation owner who had inherited from his parents a vast amount of land at a very young age. This inheritance included hundreds of African slaves to do the work of keeping the plantation and its manor house running. But because they were slaves, they were not permitted to contradict their master's orders. The boy grew up spoiled in every way possible, and he gradually became very selfish and cruel as well. He would beat his slaves for no reason, and he would squander money for fine clothes to impress the ladies of the town that lay several miles from the plantation house. Though he had everything he could ever want simply handed to him, he was quite unhappy because he always had the smallest whispering feeling that there was something missing in his life. So he sought to bury himself in pleasures and forget about this nagging unhappiness. Thus he lived his wasteful life until he became a young man.

One winters' night there was a terrible storm with thunder and lightning. All of the slaves were outside in the dark and cold and rain, trying desperately to keep the animals and the crops safe, for the little creek that ran through the plantation had broken its banks and there was water everywhere. So it happened that that night the young owner was alone in the house, reading a book by candlelight, drinking fine wine, and paying no attention to the danger of those under him.

He noticed that the bottle of wine beside him had all been drained and called for more wine, but there was no answer. The whole of the household staff was outside in the storm.

The young man called again, angrily, but there was no reply. Hefting the whip that he always carried on his belt, he headed for the kitchen to demand that the slaves refill his wine bottle.

The kitchen was deserted. The young man stood in the doorway, feeling oddly lonely. A new feeling for him in a household usually full of obedient servants, but he did not give himself time to ponder. He was about to turn and go back to his book when he noticed a small light at the back of the kitchen.

"Here," he said, starting towards it and holding out the wine bottle, "get me some more…" He stopped. By the dying fire was not a slave man or woman, as he had expected, but a hunched and tattered old figure in a concealing cloak warming its pale, glistening-wet hands. It started at the sound of his voice a leaped backwards; from this reaction the young man judged perhaps the cloaked figure was female. "Who are you," he demanded coldly, "and what are you doing in my house?"

"Forgive me, sir, but I lost my way in the storm. Your servants told me that I could come into the kitchen for a few moments and get warm," a frightened woman's voice croaked.

The young man glared. "They neglected to inform me, the master of this house."

"Perhaps, sir, they had no time, being occupied…"

"They will have their punishment for that, when the time comes," the owner continued, as if the intruder had not spoken at all. "Well, you have officially worn out your welcome here. Leave at once."

"But, sir, please…the storm is terrible. At least let me stay the night and travel on in the morning. I won't trouble you at all, and I can pay. I have only a little with me, but perhaps it will suffice…?" Trembling hands reached out, and the master heard the jingle of a few coins.

He sighed. "I want none of your money. I only want you to get out and leave me in peace!"

"Please, sir," she begged, "Have pity on a poor woman like me. Let me stay here by the fire, at least for a few hours until the storm drops a bit…"

"Why are you so persistent? I told you to get out. Now get out." The young man turned away to go back to the parlor.

"Wait. Do not walk away from your folly so lightly." The voice was stronger, with more authority, but the young man had reached the limit of his patience.

He turned back to her with a sneer. "What folly? I am the master here. I ordered you to leave at once. I am not going to say so again."

He didn't even realize what the strange woman had done until his head hit the floor with a painful crack. He yelled in pain, but could not lift a hand to put it to his aching head. Somehow, he was completely unable to move, only lie helplessly like an old rag on the wooden floor as the figure stood up straight. Slowly she pushed back her cloak, which draped gracefully down her back. Beneath it he could see a long, plain white silk gown that shimmered in the occasional flash of lightning from the windows, and wavy golden hair reaching to her waist. And her face…

He gasped with the shock of recognition. "Mother?"

She looked at him out of cool, unreadable eyes. "And to think I came all this way to visit my only child, and he turns me out of my own house like a common criminal," she remarked, in an almost conversational fashion. Her eyes flicked away, just briefly, as if to hide emotion.

"Forgive me, Mother," he pleaded, "If I had known…"

"_That_," she spat, her face suddenly menacing, "should make no difference. Had your father or I had time to raise you properly, you would have learned young that compassion and empathy must always be first in your heart, not appearances. As it is, there is but one thing I can do for you. Perhaps the damage can still be undone; you are my son, after all, and you cannot be devoid of _all_ feeling."

Fear coursed through the young landowner's limp body like icy lightning. "Wha-what are you going to do to me?" he stammered.

"That, you will never know, unless you manage to free yourself." For the first time, there was some emotion besides anger in her pale, beautiful face. He tried his best to interpret her expression by the flashes of lightning still streaking the sky outside: pity? regret? or…sorrow? She continued: "And in order to be free forever, you must find what you are lacking: love. You must find a young woman to love you as you are, and learn to love her in return. Only that will allow to you regain your true form."

"My true form?" The helpless man on the floor was truly frightened now. "_What are you going to do to me?_ Mother, please…have mercy…give me another chance…"

"This is your chance, my son. It may be your last. Use it wisely." The white figure advanced towards him, one hand outstretched. He felt a cold touch, cold as death, on his forehead. There was a brilliant flash of lightning from outside, followed instantly by a roar of thunder that rattled the shutters of the plantation house. The world around him winked out like a guttered candle. He knew no more for some time.

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_Author's Note: Hi everybody! I'm back with a vengeance! One of my other pastimes (in addition to studying Japanese) is Civil War reenacting, and history in general. Please try not to judge this new AU Beauty and the Beast fic too harshly, by which I mean don't hold it too close to my previous story "Nightingale", and give this one a chance to stand on its own. The story promises to be darker in tone than the last, but I hope that it will be just as entertaining to my readers._

_As for updates, I can make no promises. I had a lot of free time this summer to write "Nightingale" that, tragically, is no longer mine to enjoy. Just trust that I will never abandon the story completely, and bear with me. Pretty please?_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	2. Mine Eyes Have Seen

_Chapter 2 _

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_Disclaimer: Most of this story belongs to Disney._

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Several years later, a few miles from the plantation, a young woman who was far from home listened silently to the talk around her as she helped prepare the evening meal over a massive camp fire. 

"Only a week more of marching until the sea!" a cheerful dark-haired woman in her forties told the group as she sliced carrots from the Army stores. "I heard it from General Sherman himself!" There were appreciative murmurs at this. All of the women who followed General Sherman's army in his march through rebel territory were eager to see the ocean. Many had never seen it in their lives and were as giddy as little children at the prospect, including the woman who'd spoken. She was the mother of one of the boys in a Pennsylvania brigade, but she was one of those people who made it a point to know everything and everyone. Including General Sherman and his plans.

Lizzie Bellevue, for that was the young listener's name, was one of several Daughters of the Regiment, which was what women who followed the army camps called themselves. She was also one of the few who took a very sober view of the war. Protected in camp as the women were, they seldom saw the destruction Sherman's army was causing the Rebel homes and farms. But she heard stories from her brother, Robert, when she stole chances to speak with him. He was often away drilling or performing maneuvers with his unit, but when he was in camp he always made a special effort to seek her out. The stories he told sent chills down Lizzie's spine: the soldiers had orders to burn and loot all they could find, leaving nothing for the southern families to survive on. Robert himself didn't like leaving the ordinary Rebel folk so helpless, but orders were orders.

As she usually did, Lizzie offered to carry a pot of the simmering stew around to feed the various encampments of the men. It was a thankless task, what with the weight of the old iron pot in addition to putting up with all the whistles and ribald comments that inevitably came when a young woman such stepped among so many men who were generally deprived of female companionship. She was lucky that evening: she found Robert fairly quickly. He rose to help her with the pot, and as they made their way through camp they chattered away just as they once had when they were children.

"Lizzie," Robert said to her when the pot was still about half-full, "You really should not offer to do this all the time. I'm not always around to watch out for you."

"How nice of you to want to protect your baby sister. But I am twenty years old now. I can take care of myself," Lizzie informed him. "What do you think I do when you are out foraging for days at a time?"

Robert grinned. "I know. But, well, Lizzie, you must take care. I know it's not strictly right for me to say this to you, but I hear the boys talkin' around me. They say you're the prettiest woman here in camp, and I'd have to say they're right."

"Now you're just flattering me, Robert. I did not think to hear such things from my own brother." She straightened away from the man she had just served, ignoring his wink.

"But you see what I mean." Robert, to her discomfort, had noticed the wink as well. "Lizzie, please. You mean everything to me. You are all I have left in this world, and I promised Ma I'd always take care of you. I don't want to see you hurt."

"Who would dare?" Lizzie asked, beginning to feel nervous. How she wished he would stop talking like this! He knew she hated to hear their mother mentioned. "You know orders are the Daughters are not to be trifled with without the permission of both the woman and the man's commanding officer," she reminded her brother.

"And _you_ know how often that particular order is ignored," Robert pressed. "Or at least you should, a girl sharp as you. And I've seen our men out on raiding parties. These poor southern girls, all alone with their fathers and husbands away…well, seeing them so helpless put in my mind that I'm not doing my duty by you. Ma would be turnin' in her grave if she could see you here among all us rough menfolk."

"What choice have I?" she reminded him. "You said not two minutes ago that I'm all you've got in the world. Well, isn't the reverse true as well? Where would I have gone when you joined up last year?"

That silenced him. At last, when the stew was nearly all doled out, he said, "Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

"I always do." When he glared at her, she hastily added, "But I promise anyhow." She paused, thinking. "You said 'while I'm gone.' Where're you going? Out on patrol again?"

"Extended maneuvers." He didn't meet her eyes. She knew what that meant: raiding the local farms and plantations for supplies for the army as well as stir up general mischief. "We'll be gone a few days only."

"Then I want you to promise me something," she said, quick and low, "Promise me on all that there is between us that you'll be careful and stay out of trouble as well. We _are_ deep in Rebel territory. And I don't know what I'd do without you."

He reached forward and hugged her hard. "I promise, Lizzie. On all that there is between us."

"What's this?" a harsh voice barked. Lizzie and Robert leapt apart, to find a man in his mid-thirties leering at them. From the trim on his uniform, he was clearly an officer, though Lizzie was not familiar enough with the different variations of braid to determine his rank.

"Captain?" Robert said with a slight bow. He subtly nudged Lizzie on the way down, and she dipped a curtsy. When she came back up she found the man's eyes scrutinizing her from head to toe, taking in her muddy work boots, stained dress hem, threadbare apron, rolled-up sleeves, and straggling hair. She wished she at least dared to smooth her unruly hair back behind her ears, but she kept her fists balled up in her skirt instead.

"I see you have a taste for the ladies after all, Frenchie," the Captain said to Robert, his eyes not leaving Lizzie.

"Nothing of the sort, sir." Lizzie saw out of the corner of her eye that Robert's back was ramrod straight, his jaw set, and eyes narrowed. Through clenched teeth, he said, "May I introduce to you my sister, Elizabeth? Lizzie, this is my commanding officer, Captain Redgrave."

"Sister, then?" Redgrave's dark eyes took on a speculative gleam, and he looked Lizzie over with more interest. This time Lizzie itched to slap him for the unashamed way his eyes lingered. Robert reached down and took her hand, a silent order to behave. "We should be off. Lizzie has chores, and I've yet to clean my weapon this evening, sir," he said, already backing away.

"But what if I'd rather your pretty sister serve me some hot tea at my tent?" Redgrave made as if to follow them.

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather not," Lizzie spoke up, her voice soft but firm. "But I can send one of the other women along with it shortly." She dipped another curtsy, turned, and hurried away, pulling her brother behind her, his hand still in her.

Robert pulled them up once they were a good distance away. "You see? You need to be careful around the men here, or you'll get yourself into trouble that you may never get out of!"

"I had nothing to do with that…that!" she snapped, lost for words to describe what had just taken place. "You were there. You saw. I did nothing to provoke that man."

"All right." He subsided, but he still looked unhappy. "But perhaps now you see how dangerous for you such free mixin' with the men is?"

"I do it for you. Otherwise we would never see one another even when you _are_ in camp," she reminded him.

"From now on, I'll come to find you when I'm in. Or I'll get word to you somehow. But let the other women do the chores amongst the troops from now on, please. For your own sake, as well as to keep my mind at ease."

"Robert…"

"Please, Lizzie."

She took a step backwards. "Robert, I can't promise that. Those other women chatter and gossip about everyone and his mother until I'm ready to scream. I need to get away from them…sometimes."

"Very well. I can see it's unfair of me to extract another such promise from you. But please be careful, Lizzie. And do your best to avoid Captain Redgrave at all costs. I know I should never speak ill of my commanding officer, but sister, the man is a bully. And he is used to getting his own way, especially with women." Robert reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

She smiled and took his hand in both of hers. "You don't have to tell me twice to stay away from him. That is a promise I will make with a free conscience."

"Thank you." He smiled back at her in relief.

"Now, I will walk you back to the other women and leave you for the night. And then I will come and find you in a few days when the maneuvers are over."

"Promise?" she grinned.

"Promise."

They shook on it to seal the deal. "Tell me something, will you?" asked Lizzie as they strolled towards the section of the camp designated to the women. "Did your Captain really call you Frenchie?"

"An unwelcome nickname I seem to have acquired." She could see the blush staining his dark-stubbled cheeks. His hair, and his beard if he were ever to let it grow, were the same wavy auburn as her own. He explained, "It's because of my—our—last name. Apparently it was French, once upon a time."

"But now it is very much a full-blooded Yankee name. How can it not be, with you a soldier in the proud Union army serving your country against the Rebel foe?" she laughed. They reached the outskirts of campfire of the Daughters of the Regiment.

"Thank you, fair lady." Robert kissed her hand, winked, and vanished into the growing darkness of the Union camp. Lizzie watched wistfully after him for a few minutes before resigning herself to a night of darning and gossip. She considered slipping away to re-read her father's much-battered copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin that she'd managed to bring all this way in her pocket, but decided against it. It would be better to stay by the fire and listen to the everyday talk of the everyday women around her. But someday, Lizzie knew, the war would end. And when that day came, she and Robert would be free to make their own lives. He would take up his printing business, and she would teach again in a schoolhouse like Clara Barton, the famous schoolteacher-turned-battlefield nurse. They would be happy together, far from the misery and doubt of war that had plagued the country for so long. She let her thoughts soar. Perhaps someday her brother would marry and fill their house with children for her to teach. Though she knew that she could never aspire to a university, Lizzie had loved learning when she had been in school and had graduated at the top of her class before moving on to becoming a schoolteacher herself. She could imagine no greater joy than learning and helping others grow to love learning as well. That night, she settled into her bedroll under the stars and allowed her dreams for the future to take wing among the tiny sparkling points above her.

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_Author's note: And so we are introduced to Belle—Lizzie in this version. We won't find out exactly what the Beast-character will look like until Robert (Maurice) stumbles across the plantation later on._

_I will do my best to keep the mentions I make of Civil War people and battles accurate. The nominal year for this story is 1864, during General W. T. Sherman's infamous "March to the Sea" that devastated a good amount of Georgia from Atlanta to Savannah. Phrases like 'scorched earth tactics' and 'total war' are often attached to this march; basically what it means is that you burn and loot literally everything in your path so that your enemy (including the unfortunate civilians) can't live off the land. The ethics of this have been argued for a long time by many, many people, but as you can guess it's a pretty rotten deal for the locals. I have placed my protagonists in the middle of this in order to explain what a Northern girl is doing in the South, and in order to set apart Lizzie and Robert, who question the system somewhat, from the rest of the "villagers"—the Daughters and the soldiers._

_The Daughters of the Regiment did exist, they were the sisters, mothers, and wives of men in the armies of both sides who "went to war as women" (rather than disguising themselves as men and actually fighting, though there were _very_ few who did that too)._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	3. Marching Through Georgia

_Chapter 3  
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_Disclaimer: This story is based on Disney's Beauty and the Beast, and I own no part thereof._

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The bugle sounded just after dawn, calling all residents of the camp to prepare for a new day of marching. For Robert and his comrades, they had been up an hour earlier in the chilly December Georgia lowcountry predawn, making ready for their foraging expedition. They would leave the main mass of the army behind for several days and conduct a wide sweep around its perimeter. Their duties were threefold: most important, scouting for Rebel sentries and other hostiles. Second, they were to forage through the countryside, raiding farms and scavenging the fields for food and provisions to feed the army. Their final duty was to ensure that they left nothing usable behind them. This was the order that Robert constantly chafed under. How he wished it were not insubordination to leave a few hens for these poor Southern families to subsist on through the rest of the winter! But orders were orders, as he constantly reminded himself. That, and the thought of providing for Lizzie back at the camp, was the only thing that kept him getting up in the morning on these raids.

_Why couldn't our lives have been simple?_ he wondered as he pulled on his blue wool jacket and shouldered his army-issue 1863 Springfield. _We were doin' fine even without Ma and Pa. But the war came, and after the battle at Gettysburg last year I felt I couldn't do anything but be a part of it. I got so caught up in my zeal to serve my country that I didn't think of the consequences for Lizzie or for myself. I knew Redgrave had an eye for the ladies; I should have seen this coming. And now there's precious little I can do to protect her, trapped out in the field performing a dirty task that I despise myself for. With all my heart I wish us both back in Pennsylvania and a thousand miles from here._

But there was little he could do to remedy the situation other than keep his head low, perform his duty, and pray that Lizzie could indeed handle herself like a grown woman of sense until the war ended and he was discharged at last. He knew Lizzie: she had always been the bright one of the family. Ma had been so proud, laying there at death's door, to learn that Lizzie had become a schoolteacher. Lizzie was a sensible girl. She would never willingly seek trouble. But he also knew that deep within her there was a proud high-spirited streak that she had never quite been able to quell. Once on her dignity, like a cat who'd had its fur rubbed the wrong way, there was no telling what she might do. Robert growled softly at the thought of being so far from her when she might need him, but there was nothing to be done. Sober-faced, he joined his fellow ranks for inspection before heading out.

The inspector was none other than Captain Redgrave. He leered at the sight of Robert standing quietly amongst his brother soldiers, his breath smoking from his nose and mouth, but he did nothing else that might indicate more sinister motives. Perhaps that boded well. Robert watched out of the corner of his eye as the inspection progressed. There was nothing amiss: all passed muster and the Captain gave his junior officer, Robert's direct superior, permission for them to move out. Robert resisted the slight temptation to turn his head and watch the Captain and camp fade away into the dust behind them.

They marched for an hour or so back the way the main body of the army had passed the day before. If Robert had been chilly before, he quickly warmed up under the swift pace that their commander, Littleton, set for them. The clear early morning swiftly gave way to heavy grey clouds moving in from the north. At home, clouds like that would have meant snow, but here in this strange, swampy wilderness Robert wasn't sure he could read the signs correctly.

"All right." Littleton halted them in the road and turned to face his company. "We'll split into parties and set off in different directions. Meet back here, same time tomorrow. Do _not_ make me send a search party out for you." He glared at them all, his eyes lingering on Billy Samuels, who had been the last to miss such a deadline. The thrashing he'd received from Littleton was something none of the company would forget in a hurry, or be in a hurry to bring on themselves; Billy's twin shiners from that experience had only recently faded. Littleton had looked almost sorry to do it, Robert hazily recalled, but he remembered clearly what the man had said immediately prior: "Remember, boy, I'm only doing this so Captain Redgrave won't beat you harder were he to get wind of this little incident. Insubordination is his favorite way of catching recruits in the cross, and there's nothing to stop him from killing you when he does. Not even me."

Robert blinked and brought his mind back to the present moment. Littleton was assigning partners from amongst the men. He came to Robert, glanced up and down at him thoughtfully, and then said "Bellevue. Samuels."

"Sir!" One voice crackled high and nervous, the other voice distant and preoccupied.

"Your mission will be a bit different from the rest, but I do believe Bellevue can keep you in line, Samuels. You're to head southeast of here, parallel with the main camp route. I've heard tell that there's quite a large plantation in that direction. Find it, do what we always do with the rich folk down here."

"Beg, sir?" Billy said, his voice cracking again between man and boy's.

If Littleton noticed this, he gave no sign, though the other men had teased Billy about his oncoming voice change mercilessly. Instead, he nodded shortly. "Precisely, Samuels. If necessary, borrow a few useful items without the owner's permission. But please, don't disappoint me a second time by returning late or worse, empty-handed. Bellevue, I'm counting on you to keep on the objective." He started to turn away.

"Sir?" Robert said quickly before Littleton could move on.

"What is it, Bellevue?" the commander sounded resigned, as if he'd known Robert would have questions.

"You said that this mission was to be a bit different from the others'. But, sir, it sounds to me as if it's just a routine begging trip, same's we all have done at one time or another. If you catch my meaning, sir."

"I believe I do, Bellevue." Again, that assessing look came into Littleton's small, sunken eyes. He brushed a hand across his lightly grown brown beard. Robert knew this mood from seeing his commander during skirmishes with the enemy: calculation of the next move. At length, Littleton shrugged and said, "I can see no harm in telling you, so you're prepared. My information on this plantation is a bit…unusual. Nothing alarming, and certainly no Reb ambush awaiting you, at least not as far as I can determine. It's said that it's an enormous patch of land that stretches as far as the eye can see, tended by slaves that have no owner."

"Nobody makes them work, sir?" Now Robert was really puzzled.

"No one. Some of the local stories say the master of the place died years ago and the slaves continue to work out of loyalty to the dead family. Others say the master is still there, hiding in the house, and abruptly became a recluse for reasons known only to himself. None of the stories agree, which makes them all suspect, in my eyes. My feeling is that the whole thing is just foolish tales cooked up by the locals to prevent us from visiting this plantation as we have visited others in the past. They will have heard of our exploits in Atlanta." The commander shrugged again, dismissively.

"Yes, sir." Robert shivered inside his warm wool jacket. Atlanta had been little more than a smoldering ruin by the time the Union army marched on towards the sea. Never would he forget the sight of that enormous cloud of black smoke, rising up to heaven, fading into the distance behind them.

"Very good, Bellevue. I trust there are no more questions?"

"No, sir."

"Very well then. You and Samuels have permission to move out. Don't forget: return here by this time tomorrow or I shall have both of your hides!" With a sharp nod, Littleton moved on to the next assignment.

Robert and Billy looked at each other. "Right," Billy said after a moment. "Let's go." He hiked his weapon on its leather strap further up his shoulder. "Which way are we headed, again?"

"Southeast. That way." Robert pointed. With nothing better to do, the pair started walking.

Several hours later Robert calculated that they were much further east than the main camp, and they still hadn't found any sign of a massive plantation. In fact, there was no sign of human habitation at all.

"This is quite odd," Billy remarked to Robert as they entered a small strand of trees at about three o'clock that afternoon, "From the way Littleton talked this place we're seeking wasn't all that far. But here we've been at this all day and nothing to show."

"True. If we don't have anything in the next hour or so we'll have to turn back or we'll miss our _rendez-vous_ time." He pronounced this with an exaggerated French accent, making Billy snort.

"As you like, _Mon-see-yur_," he snickered. Robert shoved him good-naturedly, wishing irrelevantly that Lizzie could be there. She loved a joke, especially when it was on her older brother. He was so preoccupied with this thought that he cannoned right into Billy, who had stopped abruptly.

"Apologies," Robert began to say, but then he saw what Billy was looking at and froze as well.

A massive, wrought-iron gate pierced a thick hedge fence that stretched in either direction as far as they could see. The intricate black metal of the gate was pulled into such delicate patterns that from where Robert and Billy stood at the edge of the trees it looked like lace. But there was something oddly menacing about the beauty of the abstract design, something Robert could sense lurking beneath the surface of the loops and curls.

"Incredible," Billy murmured under his breath, discreetly crossing himself. Until that moment Robert had had no idea that the young man was Catholic. He wished he had some similar gesture to make, but nothing came to mind. He simply stood, awed and a little frightened at the sight before him.

"What kind of plant do you suppose that hedge is?" he ventured after a long, silent moment.

"No idea." Billy still had yet to come out of his daze.

"Well, there's nothing for it. We'll have to at least see if the gate is unchained." Robert started forward, but Billy grabbed his arm.

"Have you lost your mind? How can you even think of going in there?"

Robert shook him off and turned full to face him. "We have to at least try. You heard Littleton. He'd rather we not come back at all than return empty-handed."

"I won't go in there." Billy stepped backwards.

"All right. Wait here and pout like a child. I'll come back for you when I've at least scouted the place out."

"I am _not_ a child!" Billy said heatedly, voice cracking in a way that to Robert's mind was sadly ironic, but the tone was one that he recognized instantly. Lizzie had used it only the night before. He softened, just a little, at the memory.

"Very well, you're not. But that makes no difference. At least one of us still has to go in."

"Robert, please," Billy pleaded. Robert noted with irrelevant interest that the boy's voice sounded less and less like that of a child every time he spoke. "Don't go in there. It's an accurséd place. I can _feel_ it. Nothing good will come to us by entering."

Steeling himself, Robert turned away from him. "Just wait out here. If I do not return in an hour's time, hurry back to Littleton so you at least won't get into trouble again." He ignored Billy's shiver at the memory of his last punishment, and continued "Hopefully I won't be far behind you if that happens." And he walked deliberately up to the gate without a backward glance_  
_

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_Author's Note: Not much to say other than hope you're enjoying thus far! Oh, yes, Atlanta was pretty much leveled by Sherman's army in August 1864. The time of this story is now November-December-ish, late in the "March to the Sea." And an 1863 Springfield, for those who are not experts on 19th-century weaponry (like myself), is a type of rifle. Many thanks to Dave, my unit military commander (though he will likely never read this), for information on what weapon a late '63 recruit would have carried._

_Until Next Time,_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	4. Riding a Raid

_Chapter 4  
_

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_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Disney. Though now that I think about it, this story is rapidly losing all but the most rudimentary character-and-plot basis on the Disney movie. Which is a good thing for me, I guess._

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Robert had really begun to wish he not insisted on entering the plantation. In fact, he was tempted to turn directly around and go back to where Billy waited and say that they would tell Littleton they had been unable to find the plantation at all. Lying to a superior officer could be no worse than walking the deserted grounds all alone. Billy had been right: the place had a haunted_ feel_ to it, a feeling that grew stronger the closer he went towards the massive, darkened plantation house. At this time, with the evening sun falling directly behind him, there should have been some lights on had anyone been there. Once again Robert was tempted to go back now that he had confirmed to near-certainty that they would get no charity here. But like a man in a trance he kept walking, straight as an arrow towards that house.

The house itself was a handsome affair, with a wide, gracious two-story veranda, the elegantly peaked roof of which supported by Corinthian columns. _More suited to a wealthy, happily married couple with twelve children than its current state,_ Robert thought to himself as he ascended the porch. _And certainly far too grand a place for the likes of me, in my dirty wool uniform and scuffed old boots that have seen far too much wear in the past months._ Still, orders were orders. He was rapidly growing tired of repeating that phrase to himself over and over.

He knocked on the door; the hollow sound resounded in the stillness far too long for Robert's comfort. He waited. No one came. He thought he saw movement out of the corner of one of the lace curtains in a nearby window, but when he spun to face it all was still.

He waited another few moments more. When there was clearly nothing stirring in the house, he turned away at last, relieved, to descend those stairs again.

And the door behind him opened. On silent hinges it swung out towards him, frightening him so badly that he leapt several feet backwards and nearly lost his footing on the stairs.

When he had recovered a moment he examined the frail old female figure that stood in the doorway, peering at him out of bright, intelligent eyes. The eyes were set in an ebony-dark face set with high cheekbones and extravagantly pointed eyebrows. The woman's grey-streaked hair was pulled sharply back from her face under a dull, dark kerchief, and she wore a shapeless dress of similar material. Despite the winter chill, her feet were bare, he noted.

"Yassah?" she spoke in a hushed, cracked voice.

"Please excuse me," Robert said with a respectful bow, "But do you have anything in the house to spare for the army?" He figured it was worth his while to be polite, even if this woman turned out to be a slave.

The woman studied him; Robert saw that she particularly noted his belt buckle, with its broad "US" emblazoned upon it. Reb belt buckles, he knew, generally had "CS" stamped there for "Confederate States" rather than his own "United States."

"You not wiv' dem Confederates?" she asked, with a mysterious slight smile.

"No, ma'am. I'm with General Sherman's army, and he sent me here to ask if you have anythin' to spare for his soldiers in the house."

"Sent you himsel', did he?" the old woman enquired, her eyes twinkling with crooked humor.

"No. But the orders come from him." Now Robert was beginning to be really puzzled. If this woman was a slave, even a household slave, her manner certainly did not fit with what he'd expected of one. She wasn't acting very servile at all. He'd thought a slave might grovel, or kowtow, or some other such uncomfortable gesture. But this familiar bantering was rapidly becoming far more disconcerting to him.

"Come wiv me, den. We see what we kin find," she said. And she held the door slightly wider for him to enter.

Now to go into that large silent house was more than Robert had bargained for. But he did not wish to be rude, even to a slave. Accordingly, he stepped into the massive foyer, the nails in his boots clicking loudly on the polished wooden floors. The woman led him through a series of gracious rooms, each tidy and well-dusted. Clearly someone still lived in this house, despite its ominous silence. The furnishings were so luxurious that Robert half-wished he had more time to examine the rich silk upholstery and finely worked lace curtains in order to tell Lizzie about it later.

Eventually they came to a vast kitchen. A few other colored men and women were gathered near the massive fireplace there, working at preparing a simple evening meal. They all started when Robert and his guide entered the room.

"Mama!" one of the younger men exclaimed, coming to grasp the old woman by the arm. "What'choo up teh, bringing one o'dem Union soldiers in here? The Massah'll be fit teh be tied if he finds out anyone wuz here!"

"Nonsense," the old woman retorted briskly. "He ain't never need teh know. It's on'y a bit of Christian charity, after all. Listen here now, you lot. Fetch a good basket wiv' some of them pork sausages and can or two of preserves. We kin spare that much. It's not as if it'll be missed, anyhow." Notwithstanding the one man's objections, the others scurried cheerfully into side rooms to fetch the desired goods.

"Have a seat. This won't take but a minute," the old woman said, beckoning Robert to one of the chairs set around a massive old wooden table positioned in the center of the room so as to be convenient to chopping and peeling. Hesitantly, Robert came forward and sat. He waited, tense as a coiled spring, as the things the old woman had requested appeared one by one: the basket, the sausages, a few old glass jars filled with some unidentifiable concoctions. These last were put into the basket, and the basket shoved down the table towards Robert, who sat on the far side away from the fire.

"Well, here ye'are. Good fortune teh you and your Gen'ral Sherman." The woman picked up the basket and handed it to Robert, who stood, took it, and started backing towards the door to the kitchen that led to the rest of the house. His instinct told him to bolt away from that odd house with its odd slaves who willfully and with good conscience disobeyed their master, but politeness in the presence of the slaves themselves kept him at a slow pace. A sad mistake on his part.

"And when was I to be informed of this little charitable endeavor?" a disembodied male voice asked from somewhere nearby. The voice, though clear and cutting, seemed to have no owner. The effect it had upon the slavess in the room, however, was marked: they all fell silent at once and looked at the floor as if trying to melt away.

All except one. "We wuzn't planning teh inform you at all, Massah," the bold old woman said with determined cheerfulness to the voice in the air. Robert, however, could see barely contained tension in her shoulders and wondered exactly how much for his sake her exaggerated bravado was.

"Well, Lilah, we can't have that, can we? What would our guest think of your manners, letting him leave us without at least meeting with the former owner of the food that is about to slip away?" The owner of the voice came striding into the room. Through a solid brick wall.

The figure stopped a few feet from Robert, who nervously pointed his until-then-forgotten Springfield at him while he examined the person before him. The man who had just come striding so casually through a solid wall was younger than Robert by a few years, perhaps Lizzie's age. But he had a commanding air that made him seem much older. He was taller than Robert, with sandy-blond hair that needed a trim and deep, fathomless gray eyes that were the color of a brooding thunderhead. His clothes were simple, just a shirt and slacks, but they were made of far better material than Robert, Lizzie and their mother had ever been able to afford and, if Robert was any judge, were several years removed from the current styles.

The two men studied one another over the muzzle of Robert's gun for several long moments, each sizing the other up. At last, the newcomer shifted slightly. "Put the gun down. Someone might get hurt," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as if at some private joke.

"Massah…" The old woman, Lilah, spoke softly, taking a hesitant step forward.

The man's eyes went stone cold, though they did not leave Robert. "Lilah, don't interfere with this. You've done enough damage already," he snapped. He raised his voice slightly. "Everyone, out of this room. Immediately. I don't want to see any of you for the remainder of the evening." Without a word, all of the servants left the room.

Lilah hesitated at the door. "Young man, be careful not teh…" she began, addressing Robert, but the other man cut her off sharply. "Get _out_!"

She obeyed without demur, head low.

"Now," the young man continued, taking a step towards Robert, "Why don't you put the gun away now that there's nothing more you can do with it."

"There's plenty I can do!" Robert snapped. Without thinking, he lunged forward. The blond man made no move to dodge the sharp bayonet affixed to the Springfield's end and its tip plunged square through his left arm. And kept going. Robert, caught by surprise at his own unhindered momentum, staggered forward. He, like his bayonet and weapon before him, fell right through the other man and toppled with a clatter to the floor.

The young man had the gall to laugh aloud, which fueled Robert's temper. He staggered to his feet and thrust again, this time directly though his opponent's heart. The young man went on smiling as if nothing in the world were wrong. Dropping his gun, Robert staggered back against the solid brick wall that the man had walked through and flattening himself against it, staring in horror at the man's chest. There was nothing there to show that he had just shoved three inches of steel into the left side.

"Wha-what are you?" he gasped sweat trickling down his face. "A ghost? A demon of some kind?"

For the briefest fraction of a second, the storm-grey eyes of his opponent flickered. "I haven't the slightest notion." He spoke these words as if forgetting for an instant that Robert was there. But in the next moment, amusement was back as if it had never left his face. An ironic smile twisted his mouth, and he deliberately began to walk forward. One small, measured step at a time. Robert looked away, wishing the apparition would vanish. But when he looked back the ghost was standing mere inches from him. He looked down at Robert for a few moments, then smiled outright, displaying straight white teeth. The smile was terrifying, without pity.

"Come with me. I think I'll enjoy having you as my guest here. For an extended stay."_  
_

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_Author's Note: I hope you like this new manifestation of the Beast. I have big plans for him! And I sincerely hope I have not offended anyone with the slaves' manner of speech, I am trying experiments with different styles of talking._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	5. Look Away

_Chapter 5  
_

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_Disclaimer: Um, yes. Nothing that Disney has copyrighted belongs to me. And so on and so forth._

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Meanwhile, back in the camp, Lizzie of course had no idea that her brother was being hustled upstairs in a near-deserted plantation house by the voice alone of its ghostly owner. She was standing a bit apart from the rest of the army, watching the last rays of the sun set and wondering how far it was to the sea. In her opinion, it couldn't come soon enough.

She had obeyed Robert's orders to the letter; she had not left the safety of the circle of the rest of the Daughters of the Regiment. Within an hour of awakening she had been fidgeting and longing to escape. At the noon meal she watched the other women jealously as they carried thin gruel and biscuits to the men, but dutifully had merely helped with the preparation and not gone out among the soldiers. At the end of the day after marching she had once again declined to serve. But to make up for it, she had slipped away as soon as the last of the women serving had left. The men would all be hungry; none of them would want to miss supper, not even the ominous Captain Redgrave. She counted on that to have a few moments of relative safety to be alone.

It wasn't that the women were so awful to be around. True, there were the natural gossips and busybodies, but they were in the minority. It was just that they never really talked of anything _important_. At least in Lizzie's mind. Whenever she attempted to contribute to the conversation it was always obvious within a few sentences that she was far better-educated than the majority of the other women put together. She was used to engaging with her older students in carefully modulated discourse about philosophy, science, theology, and all sorts of other topics to prepare them to go on to Latin school or even University or Seminary. A few had returned on holiday saying that their Miss Bellevue knew more about such and such an author's meaning in a certain work than a few of their male professors. Her education, the majority of it a gift from her devoted parents, was a point of pride for Lizzie, but it meant that she did not fit in amongst these flighty, chattering housewives and home-makers at all. Some of the bolder ones had bluntly told her that to have an educated woman was bad enough, but it was far worse that she flaunted it so openly. Lizzie's protestations that such displays were entirely unintentional fell on deaf ears.

And thus she had slipped out alone to watch the winter sun vanish below the horizon. There was not much to see: the slow-moving clouds that had been creeping across the sky all day had nearly covered everything over in a blanket of grey. _Soon to be white_, Lizzie thought, glancing upwards and drawing her old cloak tighter around herself. She knew the signs of approaching snow from home, though they were less clear than she would have expected had she been in the north.

The light was almost gone when footfalls behind her told her she was not alone. She spun around on her hands and knees to find her worst nightmare had just come true. Captain Redgrave stood there. Had she been asked her opinion in that moment, she would have said that the leer on his face was positively demonic.

Redgrave casually flicked ashes from his cigar onto the ground. He said nothing, just looked at her with that slight smile that said he was in no rush.

Lizzie slowly rose to her feet, untangling herself from twisted skirts and cloak. She kept her face blank, knowing somehow that any fear on her part would only make her more of his victim. But inside her mind was wailing. _Oh, why did I think I was safe out here? Idiot, so proud of yourself for all your scholarship, and here you are trapped like a helpless limp-eyed doe strayed from its herd. Robert, oh, Robert, why didn't I heed you when you warned me?_

There was nothing to be done about it now. Lizzie decided to wait the man out. Perhaps he'd get bored with tormenting her nerves and go back to his supper, satisfied with the evening's work of only frightening her out of her wits. Accordingly, she did not say a word, hid her clenched hands in the folds of her skirts, and kept her eyes on his chest. She refused even to look him in the face for fear of giving him encouragement in either direction. Besides, Robert had always said you could tell a man's next move by watching his chest. She had never quite believed that, nor had she ever had occasion to try, but now seemed as good a time as any. What did he, or any other man for that matter, see in her anyhow? She'd peered into her mother's looking glass a few times before leaving with Robert for the army. All she had seen reflected was a young woman, slender and pale-skinned with pixie features, a few unwanted freckles across her nose, auburn hair that more often than not had a mind of its own, and eyes the frosty gray color of a snowy winter morning sky. _Nothing special there,_ she had always thought to herself. Her status for several years as the local schoolmarm had rendered her all but untouchable to the men back home. Robert's unexpected comment about her prettiness the day before had caught her off guard. And now these unwanted attentions from Redgrave were beginning to make her wish any beauty she might possess on someone else.

It seemed an age that they stood there, unmoving but for those actions pertaining to his cigar. At last, he threw it to the ground and stamped it out. Lizzie, to her own surprise, noted a slight weight shift in his chest just before he lifted his feet. Perhaps there was some merit in Robert's claim after all.

"Good evening." Captain Redgrave finally addressed her, deliberately leaving out the usual courtesy 'Miss Bellevue'.

"Good evening, sir," Lizzie returned, curtsying just as low as etiquette allowed. There was no cause for her to skimp on politeness just because her addressee was so lacking in it.

"I suppose a thing as clever as you are purported to be has guessed why I'm here," he said.

Lizzie was taken aback by his bluntness. She had never imagined things would turn out in such a way. She decided to be just as blunt in her reply. "I believe I have guessed, sir. And to come right to the point…"

He waved his hand. "Don't bother with the usual formalities about how unworthy you are of such an honor, and so on. It's a chilly evening, and we really should not stand out in the cold too much longer." He stepped towards her, stretching out a hand.

Lizzie felt fires of rage rising high within her at his complete belief in her docile acceptance of him. She deliberately stepped backwards, out of his range. "If you take another step towards me, sir, I shall scream and draw out half the camp. Would you prefer all your men to bear witness to what I have to say to you at this moment?" He halted, his eyes suddenly wary. Anger growing every second, Lizzie hissed, "Perhaps your dealings with women before now have given you to expect certain actions on my part. But if you do, then you have made a grave error this evening. How _dare_ you take my acceptance of you, or of any man for that matter, for granted? Let me go on my way now, Captain, and do not bother me again, or I shall report you to your superior for trifling with one of the Daughters of the Regiment without her permission or his, as is my right." With that, she deliberately made to stalk around him and back to the main camp.

He recovered remarkably quickly from his surprise at hearing a woman speak so boldly. As she passed by him, he reached out and, snakelike, seized her arm. Despite her struggles she could not dislodge his grip. "All your fine words have only made me angry, lassie," he whispered in her ear, "_No one_ gets the better of me, and certainly not an impudent maid with a high opinion of herself."

"Let me go!" Lizzie snarled in an undertone. She did not alert the camp with the promised scream, though she told herself she would if things got desperate. The cost to her reputation among the other women would be deadly, but it would be worth it to preserve herself if absolutely necessary.

Still he did not relax his bruising grip on her arm. Lizzie struggled, but he was slowly drawing her to him. In a moment she would be pinned and totally helpless. Before he could seize her other arm, she drew back her hand and raked her fingernails as hard as she could across his face. Immediately he let her go to press his hands to his cheek with a startled cry. Lizzie whirled around and made a dash for the camp. She did not look back.

Lizzie slowed once she drew nearer to the Daughters' fire, though she did not completely settle into a walking pace. Jaw clenched, eyes like stormy gray ice, she went directly into the tent she shared with five other women. She spoke to no one, though two of the women were already there and preparing to bed down. Lizzie lay down deliberately fully clothed, buried her head in her arms, and simply stayed in that position. She ignored the concern of the other women, and when she proved unresponsive they settled down beside her and were soon asleep. Lizzie herself did not sleep all that night. She did not move but to shiver periodically whenever the image of Redgrave presented itself, leering, before her glazed-open eyes.

The next morning, bleary-eyed, she helped break down the camp and pack the women's things in the wagon delegated to them. She spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her for most of the day. The silence felt strained to her, but since she spoke so rarely in the usual way few of the other women noticed.

One of the kinder women did note her pale face. "Are you feeling well, dear?"

"No. I mean, I don't feel well, but I'm not ill." Lizzie turned away. The woman was silent for a long moment, but then Lizzie heard her footfalls moving away again. That evening, after they made camp, the woman came back again carrying a steaming mug. Lizzie did not ask what was in it, but the smell alone was soothing. She thanked the women with as much of a smile as she could muster and drank the brew slowly, feeling it bring warmth down to her frozen toes. She had no idea what the woman had done to it, but that night she slept soundly and without dreams.

The following day she began to look for Robert among the men. He had promised his maneuvers would take a few days only and Lizzie longed for his comforting presence again, though she wasn't sure she would relate to him what had happened. But to her growing puzzlement and alarm, he did not seek her out though Lizzie saw several men from his company during the day. Midafternoon during their usual stop for lunch, a young man came to the women's wagon in search of her. Lizzie did not recognize him except to vaguely recall seeing him with the rest of Robert's fellow company men. He was a few years younger than herself, she observed, perhaps only fifteen or sixteen, with a nervous air.

The young man bowed slightly to her. "I'm Billy, Miss Bellevue. Billy Samuels. I brung you news of your brother." His voice cracked slightly.

"News?" Lizzie's heart grew cold. "What happened? Is he all right?"

"Don't know that for sure." Swiftly, Billy relayed to her the story of his and Robert's partnership in the field, their assignment, the plantation, Robert's insistence on at least investigating the place, and his failure to return despite Billy waiting an extra hour beyond the time he had promised he would leave.

"And where is he now?" It took all of Lizzie's composure not to break down then and there. It was too much: Redgrave, and now this. Robert possibly in enemy hands was a concept almost too terrible for her to absorb.

"Still in the plantation, miss, least as far as we can tell. He still hasn't regrouped, though we've been waiting these last few hours to see if he turns up. The plantation itself isn't too far from here," Billy admitted, bowing again as if to make up for bringing the terrible news. "I come to tell you 'cause I know how close you were."

_Were._ The past-tense reference burned like acid in Lizzie's mind. And what would she do now, if Robert never came back and she was all alone in the world?

Abruptly she stood up straight. "Take me there," she ordered.

"Where?" Billy looked puzzled.

"This plantation, the one you say he's being held captive at. You said yourself it's not far from here."

Billy looked horrified at the very thought. "Oh, no, miss. Don't ask me to go back there." Then, as if it might have given her a lesser opinion of his courage, he flushed and added, "Besides, it'd be breaking orders to go after him."

"They _ordered_ you not to go after him?" Lizzie was outraged.

"Well, no, not exactly. Just t-told us we had to return to camp w-without him," Billy stammered.

"Well, you followed those orders," Lizzie pointed out, "Surely it can't be against any others to escort me there and see if we can at least find out what…what happened to him." _I will not cry,_ she ordered herself as her voice wobbled.

Billy stared at her for a long moment, his face impossible to read. At last, he sighed gustily. "You sure do talk a good fight, miss. All right, if you put it that way, I guess it wouldn't be breaking rank to take you there. And if we're quick and quiet about it, nobody'd miss either one of us for a good while. I'll meet you on at the southern end of the camp one hour after we stop for the night."

"Thank you, Billy." Lizzie held out her hand to shake in gratitude. Flushing up to his hairline, Billy shook her hand as if it were made of china and spun on his heel, fleeing back to the safety of the other men. Lizzie watched him go, then turned her thoughts to preparations for slipping away to rescue her brother that evening. The first snowflakes of the long-promised storm brushed against her cheek as she did so._  
_

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_Author's Note: I hope this chapter has given you more insight into Lizzie; I feel like I haven't spent enough time with her until now. And I never thought I would write a character I would hate more than Nightingale's Getsuru, but Redgrave has quickly surpassed him in downright not-niceness. Not much else to say other than keep reading!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	6. Dixie Land

_Chapter 6  
_

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_Disclaimer: Disney owns approximately ¼ of the world. Including most of this story.  
_

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_The little girl shivered surreptitiously and snuggled down further under her quilt despite the summer heat, as if anticipating the snow and icy cold of the next part of the story._

_Her father noticed this, and took the opportunity to gently tuck the edges of the quilt in around her. "Shall I stop here for tonight, my darling?"_

_"No, Papa, no! I want to hear about the Ghost!" Another shiver, this time with excitement._

_"Very well, my child. But settle down now, or your mother will be after me for keeping you awake when you need your rest."_

_"I promise I'll go right to sleep as soon as you're finished with that one part," the little girl begged._

_Her father, knowing full well that this was likely not to be, smiled quietly and continued with the story._

As agreed, Lizzie and Billy met on the edge of camp. Both carried guttering lanterns smuggled from the supplies, as the sky was already growing dark and the snowflakes were coming in heavier and faster. That worried Lizzie a bit, in the back of her mind, but so concerned was she with Robert's fate that a possible blizzard in Georgia seemed a small obstacle in comparison. With visible reluctance on Billy's part they left the lit fires of the camp behind them.

It was lucky that Billy was a fair tracker, or they would have been lost immediately. As it was, it took them twice as long as it should have to reach their destination. By then, both of them were frozen to the bone and covered with a light powdering of snow that continually had to be brushed off. More than once, Lizzie found herself cursing her heavy skirts as the wind nearly blew her over backwards. Fortunately, no drifts accumulated as they did at home in Pennsylvania, or they would never have been able to continue. Just as she was convinced that she would never feel her feet again her head banged up against something hard and cold as ice.

Looking up for the first time in nearly an hour, Lizzie saw intricate wrought iron gates stretching twice as high as her head. In spite of herself, she gasped and staggered back a pace.

"This's it, miss," Billy said to her over the wind. He drew his wool coat tighter around himself.

"This place?" Lizzie glanced back at the gates. Billy had been right. There was something sinister about them. Still, she knew what she had to do. "Well, let's go inside. Perhaps they'll at least let us get warm."

"Oh, no, miss. Not me." The young man was already several paces away.

Lizzie felt her minute reserves of courage drop. "But why, Billy? At the very least we shall be warmer."

Billy shook his head vigorously, sending snowflakes flying from his cap. "You couldn't pay me enough to go in there, warmth or no warmth," he declared. "Not after what happened to your brother. Miss, please, let's go back. Back to camp. I should never'a brung you here."

"What, now that we're so close? I could never desert my brother that way," Lizzie retorted.

"Then I'll wait for you both to return, miss. See that copse of trees?" He pointed to the cluster of sheltering branches. "I'll try to build myself a fire there. That's where I'll be waiting when you come out."

"Thank you, Billy," Lizzie said.

Billy flushed again, up to his hairline. "If I was as brave a man as you'd make were you one, miss, I'd accompany you. If you don't mind me saying so."

"I'm sure that's not true. I know shouldn't be doing this, but I could never live with myself if something happened to Robert that I could prevent. I know he'll likely be very angry with me for endangering myself needlessly. Still, perhaps I can convince his captors to release him. The pleas of a desolate sister must carry some weight in this deserted place."

Billy managed a halfhearted chuckle. "Good luck to you then, miss. I'll be waiting!"

Lizzie turned her back on him, inwardly steeling herself. Slowly, she put forward one frozen, mitted hand and put it on the cold black iron gate. It was heavy, and did not move easily, but it swung open without a squeak of hinges when she put her back into it. Lizzie almost fell forward when the gate began moving on its own momentum. She staggered, righted herself, and ran to catch the freely swinging gate. Docile now, it easily swung back into place with a little effort from her poor strength. When at last it was shut again, she turned to face the plantation itself.

A single lane, wide enough for two carriages abreast, ran straight up to the enormous, becolumned main house. The snow had frosted the whole scene with a white coating, muting the outlines of everything and twisting them out of shape. It was like a scene out of some of the fashionable new horror novels coming out of the writers in Britain such as Mary Godwin Shelley might write. Lizzie could hear in her head how such a story might begin: "It was a dark and snow-covered night…" She almost laughed aloud at her own foolishness. Here she was, standing in the cold thinking of books when she should be more concerned about how she was going to get her brother back. Forcing herself to take a step, she started towards the house.

She banged hard on the door after slipping up the snow-dusted steps. As she had expected, there was no answer. Drawing her cloak tighter around her, she settled back on her frozen heels to wait. Nothing. No movement, not a sound came from the dark and silent house.

At last, loosing feeling in her extremities, Lizzie lost patience. She turned at the doorknob and to her surprise, it opened. The cold blast of air that accompanied Lizzie's half-stagger into the front hall rattled the glass windows in their frames. The door slammed behind her, leaving her in near-total darkness. Only a faint gray light from the hidden moon shone through the windows. Lizzie made out the outline of a winding staircase made of white marble somewhere in front of her, and the dark openings of rooms off the two-story main hallway.

"Hello?" she called out timidly. Only her own voice echoed back. How was she supposed to find Robert if there was no one in this house at all?

A breath of warm air passed across her face. Following it past the staircase and into one of the side rooms, Lizzie found herself in a dining room. The polished table was bare; there was nothing to suggest the table had been used at any recent time. Past the table, through another door, was a warm red glow. Lizzie went towards it.

A small dim hallway opened onto a spacious kitchen. It, too, was deserted, but there was a fire in the enormous hearth. Gratefully, Lizzie knelt as close as she dared beside it to warm herself. When she was certain she was in full command of her fingers and toes again, she stood and shook out her skirt. Glancing down, she saw that it was now badly stained with mud from the journey to the plantation and from the soot of the fireplace. Oh, well. There was nothing to do but continue her search as she was, now that she was warm. Giving her skirt another good shake in a vain attempt to get the worst of the dirt off, she left the room the way she had come.

The house was only marginally less frightening now that she was warm. Carrying the lantern that she had relit from a splinter of firewood, she made her way through the silent rooms and hallways. Large as the house seemed from the outside, the inside was a veritable maze. Every room led into more rooms and more hallways. Always calling softly, Lizzie searched what she hoped was the whole of the first floor. She even came across a trapdoor set into the floor of one of the back corridors, but it was latched tight in some way that she could not determine. After several fruitless attempts to find at least a keyhole, Lizzie gave up and continued on.

Ascending the marble stairs, Lizzie thought she saw a flicker of light ahead of her.

"Wait!" she called, more loudly than she'd meant to. She waited for the echo to die away before hurrying after that tiny flicker. But it had vanished again. "That's strange," she said aloud to the air. "I could have sworn I saw something…" Nothing answered her. Shrugging, Lizzie hefted her lamp higher and continued on.

The second floor was also deserted. All of the rooms she entered were bedrooms, and all, while containing not one speck of dust, had an unused feel about them. Now thoroughly puzzled, Lizzie found a back staircase leading to yet another floor. Hope slowly fading within at ever finding Robert, she ascended the stairs.

There. Ahead of her, there was another flicker of light. Knowing better than to call out this time, Lizzie hiked up her petticoats in a most unladylike fashion and tried to move as quietly as possible. But just as her head emerged at the top of the staircase, the light extinguished completely. Lizzie was left standing in a pool of brightness made by her own lamp, staring down a narrow corridor.

"Robert? Are you here?" she asked timidly.

Muffled but dearly familiar, a voice called back, "Lizzie?" It sounded incredulous.

"Robert! Where are you?" Lizzie charged up the remaining stairs and began trying all the closed doors along the corridor. Every one opened onto more deserted bedrooms, these much more cramped and far less gracious.

At the far end of a corridor was a stepladder, leading to another trapdoor. A banging noise came from it. "Lizzie! Lizzie!" her brother's voice called from behind it.

"Robert! I'm here," she answered, banging back. "How did you get in there?"

"Never mind that now. He had me lock myself in. Lizzie, you've got to leave. Now. If he finds you here, he'll lock you up too."

"What are you talking about? Who? Never mind, it's not important. We've got to get you out of here. Is the lock on your side?" Lizzie began scrabbling with her nails at the trapdoor.

What she heard her brother's voice saying through the door was puzzling at first, and then all too rapidly became clear: "No. Wait. Leave her alone! She didn't—Lizzie! Go! Get away from here!"

Through the closed trapdoor, a pair of boots appeared, followed by ankles concealed in long slacks. The rest of the body came down, one step at a time, until at last the face came clear: a young man with sandy hair, who had walked through a _solidly locked trapdoor_. His eyes were heavily shadowed in the flickering light of Lizzie's lamp, giving his too-pale face a skull-like appearance. Only a slight glitter from deep within those two black pockets indicated that he had any eyes at all. Lizzie found herself backed against the corridor wall, mouth open a long and silent scream.

The mouth curved into a slight smile. "Welcome, Lizzie Bellevue, to Whisper Plantation. Please, make yourself at home. Or perhaps, you already have._  
_

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_Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me so long to get this out. I've had a hectic few weeks. Papers due left and right, tests, etc... Now that the semester's almost over I finally have some breathing room again to do what I want. Including work on Beauty and the Beast fanfic. Hope you found this chapter suitably creepy (old houses like this are so much fun to walk through at night!) and stay tuned for what's coming next!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	7. Grapes of Wrath

_Chapter 7  
_

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_Disclaimer: Anything that belongs to Disney does not belong to me._

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Lizzie averted her eyes. She couldn't bear to look anymore at this horrible apparition that was apparently her brother's captor. There was a long, protracted silence. Nothing happened; not even a whisper of fabric or creaking of floorboards to indicate any motion.

At last, she dared to look again, and bit back a gasp. The figure was but a few feet from her. Lizzie was not a particularly short woman, but he towered over her by at least six inches. Now that he was closer to her lamp, his eyes were no longer terrible, empty pits. They were simply eyes, the irises an odd shade of dark purplish gray that she had never seen before. He was looking at her without expression, as if waiting for her to judge him.

Lizzie inched sideways along the wall, away from that stare. He took a step after her, but she edged away further. "Stay away from me," she warned.

The eyes crinkled. "I will do you no harm, Miss Bellevue."

Such a statement stoked Lizzie's momentarily forgotten anger at this man. "No harm! What a ridiculous thing to say!"

"Why?"

Lizzie blinked. "Why? Do you mean, what harm is there in locking up an innocent man who was only sent to your doorstep to beg for supplies? If you have to ask, then you don't deserve to be told!"

There was a silence. At last, he said, very quietly, "I suppose I deserved that."

"That and more! If I thought it would do any good, I would…give you a clout on the head with this lamp!" Lizzie snapped.

"Lizzie!" Robert's voice said from the other side of the trapdoor.

The man in front of her actually smiled. "You are quite a formidable woman, Miss Bellevue."

Lizzie bit her tongue and said nothing. He was clearly not listening to anything she said. So she just glared, trembling slightly with rage and fear. There was another protracted silence. When she had calmed down a bit, Lizzie ventured, "Please, will you release him?"

The grey eyes flickered. "I'm afraid not, Miss Bellevue."

A hot tremor of anger ran through Lizzie again, but she controlled it—barely. "Why not?"

"I need him for something."

"What could you possibly need someone like him for? He's just a northern soldier from Pennsylvania. What interest could you, a man of the South, possibly have in him?"

"I fail to see how that's any business of yours."

Lizzie glared. "No business of mine? He _is_ my only brother!"

Now he was avoiding her eyes entirely. "My apologies for the inconvenience."

"The _inconvenience!?"_ Lizzie spluttered. There were so many ways that she wanted to respond to this that all of them rushed to her throat at once and nearly choked her. At last she said, very calmly and very deliberately, "Please. He and I are all each other has left in this world. And the army has great need of soldiers. Please release him."

"No." He turned away and walked through the nearest wall and into one of the adjoining rooms.

"Wait!" Lizzie wailed, throwing herself at the spot where he had vanished. "Wait, please!" She pounded her fists against the wall, despairing of ever freeing her brother.

"What is it?" a voice asked from beside her. Lizzie leapt backwards and nearly hit her head on the edge of the stairs. The man had walked back through the wall in a different place and was looking at her coolly out of those fathomless eyes again.

Lizzie steeled herself. "I'll take his place."

"You—what? You will?" The stranger seemed genuinely taken aback.

"Lizzie, no!" Robert shouted despairingly from behind the locked trapdoor. "Don't—"

"Robert, please listen. It's the only chance I have to get you out of there. The army needs men such as you; the _Union_ needs you. The Daughters don't need me; there are plenty of them to take care of the soldiers." Lizzie's eyes filled, but she refused to let them spill over. She turned back to her brother's captor. "If I stay here in his place, then will you let him go free?"

He thought this over. "Yes. I will. But you must promise me something in return."

"Anything."

"You must never try to escape."

Lizzie thought this over. An escape had been in the back of her mind. But if she gave her word, then she would be bound to it. Their mother had impressed into both of her children the importance of keeping a promise. She would have no choice but to remain here in this desolate plantation…forever. Was that really what she wanted? But then she weighed her own life against her brother's. When it came down to it, he was the one thing that could induce her to give all for.

Setting her jaw, Lizzie swore the oath: "I promise. I shall never attempt to escape from here." Even to her own ears, it sounded grudging. But it was the best she could do. And now she was bound.

"Very well." He gave her a short nod. They stood there for another moment, sizing each other up as a general would a potential battle site. At last, he said, "The key is beneath the second step. Would you be so good as to release Master Bellevue?"

Immediately, Lizzie flew to the second step and palmed the key. Within moments Robert was free and descending the stairs like lightning.

He gripped her arms in both of his, holding her close. "I don't agree to this, Lizzie. I refuse to. I have guardianship over you—"

"You lost that when I came of age, remember?" Lizzie reminded him in an undertone to match his, "And besides, what could you do? I have given my word. I _must _stay."

"Quite right, Miss Bellevue," her new captor agreed. He stood far too close to the pair of them for comfort. "I have your word on the matter. And now, Master Robert, if you will step down to the kitchen with me, I'll have Lilah fit you out with a few things for your General Sherman. That _is_ what you came for, isn't it?" The cruel irony of this was lost on neither of the Bellevues. Both of them clenched their jaws in precisely the same way and contained their tempers. Robert gave Lizzie one last despairing look before he and the other man vanished down the stairs.

"Wait!" Lizzie called after them. Both turned to look at her, Robert hopeful, the stranger wary. Lizzie came to the top of the stairs. She held out her still-burning lamp to her brother. "Take this with you back to camp. Think of me whenever you light it."

Robert climbed the stairs again to take the lamp from her. "Thank you, sister," he said formally, kissing each cheek like a gallant courtier of old. "I shall think of you, as you say." Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "And I'll come back for you. You have _my_ word on it."

Lizzie started to try to dissuade him of this, but he was already gone, carrying the lamp light away from her. She was alone. It took only a few moments before she was stiffly huddled on the top step, her head buried in her arms. She sat like that in silence, without tears, until her captor returned for her alone. Robert was gone for good.

Even without hearing it, she knew he was there, waiting for her. He had to be. Lizzie refused to look and see if she was correct. She did not even want to think. However, she had never been one to remain in denial of facts for long. As it had been with the deaths of her parents, Lizzie unwillingly began to come to terms with it and attempt to live around it.

She looked up. As she had expected, the dark shape of her captor was there waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Once again, his eyes gave away nothing; they were deeply in shadow. "I thought you were crying," he remarked frankly when she stood and brushed off her skirt. "I thought it might be best not to disturb you until you were more composed and prepared to see your room."

"I wasn't—my room?" Lizzie enquired, not certain she had heard correctly.

"Yes, of course. You didn't expect me to leave you in the attic, did you? It wouldn't be chivalrous at all. My servants have informed me that I was raised far better than to treat a lady with such disrespect. Follow me, please."

"But I'm not—"

He sighed. "Unless of course you would _rather_ remain in the attic? That could easily be accommodated as well, should that be your preference."

Lizzie wanted very much to say yes, she would, if only because she wanted to see as little of _him_ as possible, but the polite side of her mind restrained her. She walked slowly down the steps to join him.

He smiled again; it seemed almost in spite of himself. Gesturing elaborately with his hand, he led her down the hall.

"This will be your room." He indicated one of the doors to the decorated suites she had poked her nose into earlier. Hand shaking, Lizzie turned the elaborate brass knob and pushed open the door. The room, what she could see of it in the dark, was quite beautiful. Much nicer than anything she had ever dreamed of calling her own. Still, Lizzie closed her heart and refused to love it. She was a prisoner here; nothing could change that. She swallowed, and stepped inside with a cool "Thank you." She was pleased to hear that her voice was not trembling as much as her heart.

"No trouble at all, Miss. Now, I shall expect you downstairs in a half-hour's time once you've had the chance to freshen up and put on some…nicer…clothes."

She spun to face him. "What for?"

He blinked, once again seeming surprised by the hostility of her voice and posture. "Why, merely for supper."

"I've already eaten," she said coldly.

"It's not an option, girl. I expect to see you downstairs, in appropriate clothing, in precisely thirty minutes." And without another word, he walked away down the hall.

Lizzie mouthed wordlessly after him in inarticulate fury for a few moments before closing her door and wandering over to sit on the crocheted bedcover. _Well, one thing was now very certain, Lord-whoever-you-believe-yourself-to-be,_ she thought. _If it's a war of the wills you wish for, it's a war you'll get. And I _don't_ intend to lose.  
_

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_Author's Note: Sorry this one has taken so long to get out. It's been through several drafts until I got it where I wanted it, finally. I have to admit I was a little surprised at the lack of reviews for the previous chapter, but I understand that this is a very busy time of the year for everyone (myself included). Thanks very much to bellamegs for her faithful reviews._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	8. Fateful Lightning

_Chapter 8  
_

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_Disclaimer: Nothing about the story or characters that belongs to Disney belongs to me._

* * *

The owner of Whisper Plantation paced back and forth in the kitchen of his home; ignoring entirely the slaves rushing to and fro preparing the finest meal they could for their unexpected guest. The slaves, used to this sort of behavior from their master, paid no attention, nor did they make any attempt to move out of his well-worn path. They simply walked through him undisturbed without hindering his purposeless steps in the least.

Only old Lilah watched him as she stood against the table, a basket of neatly folded clothes on her hip. At last, she ventured, "Massah?"

His only response was to stop pacing and look at her.

"I've some dresses teh take up and present teh the young lady. I took the liberty of fetchin' dem from the Mistress' clothes press. Do I have permission the use dem?" She inclined her eyes slightly.

He reached forward to rifle through them, then quickly withdrew his hand. "Show them to me," he commanded.

She inclined her head again, giving no indication that she had noticed anything unusual, and began to remove the beautiful gowns one by one. For each her master gave a nod or a shake of his head. He faltered only when she came to the last, a simple white silk dress made for hot Georgian summer afternoons. He blinked a few times, squinted as if trying to remember something, and then shook his head several times to clear it.

"Massah?" Lilah sounded concerned.

"It's nothing," the young man answered. "But…this dress…it was Mother's favorite, wasn't it?"

Lilah looked at him fondly. "Fancy you rememberin' dat, and you on'y a lil' chil' when the Lord called her up to him."

"I can still see her wearing it, clear as if it were yesterday. The image is like crystal in my mind. But I can't remember anything else about her. Except…didn't she always wear the smell of roses?"

"Yassah. Sure's I'm standin' here, she did." Lilah watched her master's face closely. Too closely for his comfort.

He shook his head, hard, to banish the disquieting image of his mother from his thoughts. "Never mind. Take those dresses up to the young lady and help her dress. Make certain she's on time for supper."

Lilah didn't move. Her dark eyes bored into him, and he instinctively turned away from their piercing gaze. At last, he muttered, just above the kitchen noise, "How did I get myself into this?"

"Do I need to answer that, Massah?"

"No." He sighed, and ran a hand through his too-long hair. "But now I have this…this…Northern _woman_ in my house. And not the slightest idea what to do with her. I only meant to lock up her brother for a few days for some diversion, and then let him go on his way. To teach those Northern oppressors that the South still has some teeth left in her. But then the sister arrived…things got out of hand. And now she's here. For good. I made her promise, and she didn't react like one who would take such a promise lightly." He paused, and buried his head in his hands. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"Not much to be done 'bout that now, Massah."

"I know that!" he snapped, his head coming up angrily. "Why are you still here? I gave you an order! Get upstairs, and no more talk!"

"Yassah. But let me jest say, good may still come of this folly of yers." Before he could respond to that, she left the room, basket still imperturbably on her hip. Her master glared after her. Lilah had been his nursemaid when he was a child. It meant that she knew him far too well, and often she forgot her place and took liberties with him. It didn't help that she knew only too well that physical punishment was out of the question. She could say what she liked to him without fear of the immediate reprisals that would have come to her in the old days. Before the curse. Before he had awoken one morning on the floor of this very kitchen to find himself a spirit without a body and no memory of how it had occurred, only the mysterious knowledge that he somehow had to find a way to love a woman truly and earn her love in return in order to regain his true form again. But how was he to do that when he could never touch her, nor she him?

He thought of Lizzie Bellevue, the girl upstairs. Might she be the woman he was supposed to seek? She was pretty enough, in a rough Northern sort of way. Not much compared to the Southern beauties that had once fought for his favor. Still, she was the first suitable woman he had seen in years. Now that she was nominally his prisoner, he supposed it was worth an attempt to get her to love him. He'd never had much of a problem getting women to fall for his wit and charm in the past. Lizzie would likely be no different. But could he love her? He thought about it. Beneath the mud and dirt and plain clothing, she was clearly high-spirited, a quality he grudgingly admired. She'd shown far more spine in facing him than her soldier brother. If Robert Bellevue's tales of his younger sister were to be believed, she was quite well-educated for a woman of her class. That she was a schoolteacher was a bit of a detriment, but that could be overcome. She was also fiercely loyal to the two things she most cared about: her brother and the cause of the Union, if her own actions were any indication. If that loyalty might be brought to _him_ as well… All in all, not a bad prospect.

He glanced up at the clock and frowned. It had been a half hour and more since he had left the girl in her room. She should have come downstairs already. And Lilah was far from impudent enough than to deliberately make the girl late. Still frowning, the young man left the kitchen and went upstairs to see what was going on.

He found the girl's door closed and no sounds of activity coming from behind it. Feeling the faintest stirrings of anger at being disobeyed, he opened his mouth to call through the door, but before he could say anything it opened. Out came Lilah, her mouth set in a very grim line. She did not appear surprised to see him standing before her; the old slave woman usually seemed to know when he was nearby, even now that he made no sound on the floor when he moved. He opened his mouth again to ask her why the girl had not appeared at the appointed time, but she silenced him with a gesture. Swiftly she closed the door behind her and stepped away from it.

Before she could slip away, he demanded, "Well? Why is Miss Bellevue not with you?"

Anyone else would have had the shame to stare at the floor, or at least look away. Lilah met his eyes squarely. "I kin make no argument that will git her to leave that room. Never in all my born days've I seen sich stubbornness in a girl-child."

Fury sparked in his heart. "And to think I believed you loyal to me. Yet you cannot obey my express wishes." The insult was calculated to sting, and he could tell by Lilah's reaction that he had struck home. She finally looked down, her jaw clenching wordlessly.

"Don't blame the poor woman for something that is no one's fault but your own," said a cold female voice from nearby.

Slave and master turned to look at the now-open bedroom door. There stood Lizzie, just as bedraggled as before, posture ramrod straight, hands clenched, eyes burning. The young man almost quailed at the unbridled hatred in those snowcloud-colored eyes, but he gathered his own dignity—and temper. "Pardon me?" he said, striving to make his voice just as icy as her own.

"You heard me. Don't try to blame your servant woman for your own mistakes." She paused to draw a sharp breath. "What in this world or the next would have made you believe that I might ever wish to taste the food of your table? True, I might have promised to stay here to let my innocent brother go free, but I never made any promise to obey any further of your asinine commands. I hope _I_ never gave you any reason to expect it."

He should have seen this coming. He'd been an idiot to even think that she might feel anything but contempt for him. Cursing himself for his own stupidity, he strove for a tone of indifference as he replied, "Am I to understand that our hospitality is unwelcome to a guest?"

"Beyond a doubt. I am surprised you even need ask."

"Very well." He turned to Lilah, who was staring back and forth between the two of them with wide eyes. "Miss Bellevue has chosen to refuse our hospitality. We must honor her request. She is to get no meals from this moment forward, until she agrees to eat downstairs like a civilized woman and not insult a gentleman like a barbarian." He turned back to Lizzie, who was keeping her chin erect and her eyes cool despite his harsh words. "I hope you enjoy your starvation until you submit to me, however asinine you find my commands. Good evening, miss." Without another word he turned and walked down the corridor towards his own suite of rooms, leaving Lizzie and Lilah staring after him, one defiantly and the other sorrowfully.

Once in his inky black bedroom he sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands, his fury vanishing abruptly and leaving only a strange feeling of shame. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he keep his temper in check around this one stubborn girl?

"I'm such a fool," he said aloud to the air. "I've gone about this whole thing entirely wrong. I should never have imprisoned her brother, and now I've made so many mistakes around her. She'll never let go of her hatred for me; she certainly has no reason to think well of me. I'll never be free of this wretched curse." He reached forward and made to touch one of the dusty trinkets on the shelf beside his bed, a pocket watch left to him by his father that shone faintly in the weak moonlight. As he had known it would, his hand passed right through it. He clenched his hand tight, put it deliberately in his lap, and did not move again for quite some time_  
_

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_Author's Note: I hope you all are enjoyed the holidays. For those of you who are back in school already, my sympathies. Since my last update I've been extremely busy with exams, Christmas, and a youth conference in New Orleans. So here is the long-delayed Chapter 8. I hope to get several more done before I go back to school, but I can make no promises._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	9. Dim and Flaring Lamps

_Chapter 9  
_

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_Disclaimer: By this point I think it's safe to say that Disney owns about 85 of the plot of this story and maybe 60 of the characters. Everything else about them now belongs to me._

* * *

The next morning, the entire household woke to a feeling of tension, and none felt it keener than the cause of the upset. For a moment, Lizzie couldn't remember where she was. She knew she wasn't at home, yet she was far too comfortable to be in a thin canvas tent with seven other women sharing handmade quilts and blankets. The first thing she saw when she blearily opened her eyes was weak sunlight filtering through fine white linen. She sat bolt upright with a gasp. Everything came rushing back: the plantation, the deal, the loss of her brother, the lack of food until she submitted. Lizzie flopped despairingly back onto her pillows and drew the covers over her head. She would not, _could_ not, face this day. 

A soft tap at the door startled her. In came Lilah, the old slave woman who had been sent to her the evening before with some dresses. Lizzie had refused to look at them. Today Lilah carried nothing in her hands, but she curtsied neatly.

"I come to help you dress, Miss," she said in her soft-but-firm voice.

"Thank you," Lizzie said, carefully polite. "But is there any point in my dressing and leaving the room?" she added. Lilah looked taken aback, so Lizzie hastened to say, "I mean to say, there's no meal for me to go downstairs to."

"I canna serve your breakfast in here. 'Tis against orders."

"I understand. But you see why there's no point in me dressing. I don't intend to leave this room at any time today."

Lilah studied her carefully, then slowly began to smile. "Surely Miss does not inten' to spend the day abed!"

"I…no," Lizzie admitted. She hadn't thought of that.

"Then Miss mus' get dressed. Elsewise you'll catch chill, wiv' dis weather," the old woman announced firmly. She took Lizzie's arm and guided her out from under the covers. "Come. We see what we kin find."

"I won't wear any of those dresses you showed me last night. They're much too fine; I'll look foolish in them," Lizzie announced. Having lost one battle, she was determined not to lose another to this very clever slave woman who treated her like she was no more than a willful child.

The old woman's leathery skin crinkled around the eyes. "I though' Miss mi' say dat. I washed and brushed your ol' dress and underthin's las' night whilst you was sleepin'. Ah'course, they never be new again, but I did my bes'." She shook out Lizzie's neatly folded dress from its chair and held it up. Lizzie couldn't help gasping in astonishment. All the wear and tear of the road had vanished, as well as the mud and water stains from the night before. The dress looked just as it had when Lizzie and Robert had left Pennsylvania: not perfect, and certainly far from fashionable, but at least clean and serviceable again.

"Thank you," Lizzie mumbled, so astonished at Lilah's handiwork that she slipped it on without protest. Once the slave had left again with a slight smile on her face at having accomplished her purpose, Lizzie sat at a chair at the window to think. She was not used to her actions being so accurately predicted by anyone, let alone an old woman with whom she'd spent only a few minutes in her entire life. Not even Robert had ever found her easy to understand, for all his love and care.

"I see Lilah worked her usual persuasive magic on you. She does tend to have that effect on people," said a voice from behind her. Lizzie whirled around to find her tall captor standing a foot inside the door Lilah had left open.

She clenched her hands and forced herself to stay seated. "Why are you here?" she snapped.

"Simply to wish you a good morning, Miss Bellevue." With a slight bow and an impassive face, he left as quietly as he'd come, leaving Lizzie to stare after him. After a stunned moment, she got up and closed the door.

"What was that about?" she murmured to herself. She had no answer to that question, nor did she come close to a solution as the day wore on. But there was nothing to do except think. She had no knitting or darning to do, or even any books to read. She was still sitting in the chair, looking at the snow-dusted landscape when Lilah reentered the room. She helped Lizzie prepare for bed without a word, but when she left again Lizzie found a wrinkled red apple sitting beside the door. Gratefully, Lizzie ate it, flung the core out the window and went to sleep, the pangs in her stomach briefly sated.

For the next few days the routine remained the same. Her captor only visited a single time a day, once Lilah had helped his prisoner dress. He was perfectly civil to her during these visits, but Lizzie told herself that he was only waiting for her to surrender to him through starvation, so she maintained her resentful attitude. The rest of the daytime hours Lizzie was left to her own devices in her room. Only in the evening would Lizzie find some small gift of food near the door after Lilah left for the night. Lizzie never saw her leave it, nor did she dare ask about it in the morning for fear the woman's master might be nearby.

Finally, on the fourth day of this monotony, Lizzie made up her mind to go downstairs and see if she could find something more substantial to eat. A few bites of food a day were all right, but Lizzie had not eaten well even while traveling with the army and now that she was deprived even of the meager gruel the Daughters ate she had begun to notice that her old dress hung more limply on her.

She guessed it to be about noon when she finally turned the handle of her door and crept silently onto the landing, leaving her shoes behind her. Carefully, she looked up and down the hall for signs of activity. There was no one in sight, nor could she hear anyone stirring in the rest of the house. Down the stairs she went, treading as softly as her stockinged feet would allow. Still she saw no one. Through several handsomely furnished rooms she wandered, taking time to admire the beautiful paintings on the walls and the soft carpets on the floors now that she could see them in the daylight. At last, she found the kitchen. As she crossed to the threshold, several slaves stood up quickly from the large main table.

"I…" Lizzie began, but one of the men, who bore a marked resemblance to Lilah, silenced her with a gesture. He vanished into a back room and then quickly returned carrying several small parcels that could be hidden among Lizzie's skirts. Feeling them, she realized they contained smuggled food saved up just for this occasion. With them, she could last several more days if she rationed the stores carefully.

"Thank you," she mouthed, backing out of the kitchen. Once outside, she looked around furtively. Her captor was nowhere in sight, and she felt sure that if he'd seen his slave's actions he would make himself known immediately. Sighing softly, Lizzie turned to go back upstairs.

Then she paused. What law said she had to return to her room right away? Why could she not explore the rest of the house in daylight, as it was now her home as well? Deliberately, she turned away from the path back to the stairs and took the opposite corridor.

Soon she was completely lost again amongst the maze of corridors and gracious rooms, more than she could ever count. This time, however, the house seemed much more welcoming now that she was not viewing it by the light of one feeble lamp. Lizzie found herself almost enjoying her exploration until she abruptly rounded a corner and was facing a dead end. She's reached the furthermost extremity of the house at last.

Shrugging, Lizzie turned to wander her way back in the opposite direction when her foot caught on something. Looking down, she found that she did recognize this place after all. It was the trapdoor she'd been unable to open the previous night on her search for Robert, the one that seemed to lead into some sort of cellar. There was no keyhole, as Lizzie had already discovered, but she decided that it was worth one more try at the handle. To her surprise, it opened easily.

She stared into that dark opening for so long that it seemed hours had passed when she finally roused herself. Backing away and into the nearest room she discovered a dusty fireplace stocked with extremely dry wood that looked as if it had not been used or thought about in years. Choosing a long, slightly crooked stick that should serve her as a torch, she deftly lit the end with the flint and tinder her mother had insisted both of her children carry everywhere. Even after she was gone, Lizzie had continued the habit without much thought. Not for the first time, she was grateful for her mother's practical-minded upbringing. Carrying her new torch, she made her way slowly down the stairs.

At first glance it seemed to be a large empty cellar that had never seen daylight since the house had been built. Nothing was stored there, so there weren't even any rats or other rodents. The ground, when Lizzie's feet finally found it, was hardpacked earth, similar to other root cellars, springhouses and smokehouses she'd been in in the past. Her feeble torchlight did not reach the far end of the cellar, however, so onward she went.

Into focus wavered a strange shape against the far wall. It appeared to be a single-size bed…or possibly a bier. Lizzie shuddered, but her curiosity was too great by this point to turn back now.

One step forward. Another. There was definitely something lying on the bier. Something…human-shaped. Two more steps, and it was abruptly clear exactly what the shape was.

Lying still on a shoulder-high block of smooth rectangular stone was the body of the young master of the plantation, her captor. Lizzie leapt back with a muffled shriek, one hand going to her mouth to prevent the sound from carrying. She waited a moment. Nothing stirred. She took two steps forward again, close enough that the light of the torch should wake up anyone sleeping. Not a muscle so much as twitched. Lizzie waved the torch back and forth in front of the face. Nothing. Hesitantly, she reached a hand forward and touched the limp arm. Still no reaction, but the arm itself was reassuringly solid. With the same hand, Lizzie gently patted the icy white face a few times, then again, harder. The cheeks were cold as death, she noted, but when she put her ear near the mouth there was a faint whisper of breath.

_Now, here's a puzzle, if there ever was one,_ Lizzie thought, pacing back a step to take in the body again. _It's like nothing I've ever seen. A breathing body that won't wake and feels to the touch as though it's dead. And clearly unattended. From the signs, _and here she closely examined the floor by the light of her torch, _I'd guess no one except me has been here in…years. Yet this…person…clearly lives. It's like my old favorite bedtime tale La Belle au Bois Dormant, where the princess is cursed to sleep until her true love comes. Well, I'm certainly not going to do any kissing! I'm far from his true love. If anything, I'm the last person who might fall in love with such an unpleasant character as he. _She almost laughed aloud at this. _Yet this is a possible puzzle to solve. I might ask some careful questions of Lilah, and even my captor, the next time I see them. For all I know, he could be perfectly aware that I'm here right now!_

That thought made her extremely nervous, nervous enough to feel her way back out of the cellar and close the trapdoor carefully behind her. Shaking the dust off her skirt and returning her half-burnt torch to the nearest fireplace, she made her way slowly back upstairs to her room. When Lilah came to help her undress that evening she found the young woman seated in her usual chair, staring hard into the distance as if trying to see something that hovered just out of the reach of her vision in the night.

"Miss?" Lilah asked softly.

Lizzie stood and turned. If anyone knew what was going on in this house, it would be Lilah, she decided. "Lilah? Does this house have a…a cellar?" she asked, careful to keep her voice casual and mildly curious. She watched the old slave's face for any sign of a reaction.

The only thing Lilah's normally expressive face showed was puzzlement. "Naw, miss. We got plenty o'outbuildin's for such as that. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Lizzie turned away again, satisfied that Lilah knew nothing of the mysterious cellar. And if she did, she would have a very good reason for keeping that from her young guest, which was enough to still any lingering curiosity in the normally practical Lizzie. She decided that she would not go looking for that cellar again. It would be better—and safer for her peace of mind—to pretend that the whole thing had been an extremely vivid dream. Yet she could not banish the image of that still, expressionless white face from her mind for quite some time_  
_

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_Author's Note: Apologies, this chapter turned out to be creepier than I anticipated. I certainly wasn't imagining a horror flick in my mind, but that's almost how it came out in visual sequence. Most of the stuff in here is pretty important, as you have probably guessed, so stow it away in your minds for later; likely it won't come up again for awhile. _

_For those of you who don't know and don't read French, La Belle au Bois Dormant means "The Beauty in the Sleeping Woods" and is the original Sleeping Beauty story, long before Disney got their hands on it. Of course this is a Beauty and the Beast story, but I couldn't help throwing that in there because of the slight similarity (at the moment) of this chapter to the old version of Sleeping Beauty._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	10. Southern Rights

_Chapter 10  
_

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_Disclaimer: Let's see…I own whatever exact percentage of the plot and characters of this story that is not specifically claimed by Disney copyright._

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Lizzie woke up the next morning to Lilah's gentle knocking on her door. Trying to banish the last cobwebs of her dream of a torchlit cellar from her mind, she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Mornin' Miz Bellevue," Lilah said cheerfully as she came into the room. Unlike the previous few mornings, she carried a bundle in her arms.

"What's that?" Lizzie asked sleepily.

"You'll see in a moment, Miss," the old slave answered cheerfully, drawing the window's lace curtains to let in the weak winter sun.

"If it's more dresses, Lilah, I don't want to see them. My old dress is fine," Lizzie informed her.

Lilah paused, eyeing Lizzie very closely. "I though' since Miss'd decided teh be venturesome yesterday, you migh' be more willin' teh dress proper an' go out today."

Lizzie flushed, but she held her head high. "You didn't tell…him…did you?"

"Who, the Massah? Naw, t'aint any business of mine teh go tale-tellin'. That there's between you and he to work out fer yer own selves."

"I don't see that happening soon," Lizzie grumbled. She got out of the bed and started towards her own dress, draped over a chair the previous night.

There was a sudden flurry of movement in the doorway, as a man's head ducked in and then rapidly ducked out again. Lizzie shrieked and dove for her gown while Lilah scolded, "Weren't you taught any better than teh peep in on a lady when she's dressin'?"

"You'd think whoever raised me would have told me so," came the sharp, ironic reply. Lizzie, who had spoken enough with Lilah to know who had done most of the raising, flushed with fury at the insult to the woman. She stalked over to the door, which was still open, just as the young man added, "Well, old woman, I've had enough of your sauce, trying correct me like I'm eight years of age again and thinking I can't see you at it. You think I don't know your little tricks better? Get downstairs. I don't want to see you again today."

Lilah, her face empty, curtsied and hurried away. Lizzie's captor took a deep breath, bowed courteously to his prisoner, and started to stride away.

"Wait." Lizzie tried her best to keep the fury out of her voice.

He turned back to face her. "Yes, Miss Bellevue?"

"How can you speak to her in such a way? The woman who raised you like her own? I'd be shamed to death if I addressed my own mother so."

His eyes flashed, as if she'd insulted him. "She isn't my mother. She's nothing but a slave, _my_ slave, as the both of you would do well to remember."

"She's a _person_," Lizzie spat. All her righteous indignation, all her reasons for supporting the Union with all her soul, came rushing back to her. Fire in her voice, she continued, "For all you Southerners believe you can own a human being, as you'd own a horse or a dog. It's shameful, for them who raise you as children to be treated like chattel once you've grown!"

"How dare you—" he sputtered.

"Don't like to hear the truth? Too disruptive for your precious way of life?" Lizzie pressed on mercilessly. She well remembered hearing the various opinions from the pro-slavery men and women in her town. Even in Pennsylvania there were some who argued that way, if only to keep the peace between North and South.

"It certainly is!" he snapped, and she dimly realized that she'd pushed his own tolerance too far. She was so furious she couldn't bring herself to care. He continued, "What do you Northerners mean, marching in here and telling us how to run _our_ lives and what to do with _our_ property? Do you think us such poor fools that we can't handle simple things ourselves?"

"Far from it. You can have your farms, and run them whatever way you want. Ordinarily we wouldn't dream of interfering. But it's wrong to claim that your laborers are less than human due to their color, and justify forcing them to work for no pay in such a way!"

"You think it costs nothing to own a slave?" he retorted. "They must be fed, and clothed, and supervised. All at the owner's expense, and at no cost to them!"

"Fair wages would cover that just as well!"

"And then they'd all be moving about seeking a better situation. Moving to the North and taking Northern factory positions, like as not," he argued.

"So be it, so long as they're treated as human beings and paid _wages_," she retorted.

"You Northerners. Always thinking like businesspeople, what will bring the greatest profit to you rather than keep the peace. You're only idealists when you find the spare time between counting money."

"You think that's all I've done all my life? Owned a factory? Counted money? We were farmers, same's everyone else within ten miles of us!"

"And what did you and your brother do when the war started? Leave your parents behind to farm while you and the rest of the idealists ran off to the army?"

This time he'd hit a still-raw nerve. "My parents are both dead. Ma died a year into the war. We couldn't keep the farm by ourselves; the only thing left to us was for Robert to join the army, and for me to follow him." To her shame, Lizzie felt tears begin to slide down her cheeks. She couldn't tell if they were tears of sorrow or rage. "How _dare_ you judge when you don't know the circumstances at all? How _dare_ you act as if we left our parents and our responsibility to them just to chase some idealistic dream?"

"Ah-ha, so you _do_ admit that freedom of the slaves is just a dream?"

"On the contrary. You might think it a dream, but it's going to become a reality. You should take a look around outside your plantation. The South is losing ground. I've heard tell that more and more of your brave Reb soldiers are deserting and running home to their mamas and sweethearts. It's only a matter of time."

There was a slight lull; she'd struck him dumb at last. It was at this point, for the first time, that Lizzie realized that they had an audience. A silent group of slaves, including Lilah, stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at their master and his furious prisoner. There was no expression on their dark faces, but their eyes were darting keenly back and forth as they took everything in. Her captor followed the direction of her eyes with his dark storm-colored ones. His face twisted.

"All of you, get out, _now_!" he roared in a voice that shook the house. "Out of the house! This instant!" The slaves scattered. "And you," he snarled, turning back to Lizzie, "You can join them, since you like them so much."

"What?" Lizzie blinked.

"You heard me. Out. Now."

"Very well," Lizzie replied calmly, her face set. "I won't remain in this house, where people are treated as nothing but creatures for your service or amusement. Good-bye!" Down the stairs she stalked, and out the front door. Completely unaware of her lack of cloak in the chilly midmorning air, she continued walking out through the plantation gate and out into the rolling fields of Georgia.

It dawned on her after about an hour of walking that she had no idea what direction she should walk in. But, glancing at the half-hidden sun, she realized that she was indeed heading east, the direction the army had taken days ago. But what to do? General Sherman's army was long gone in their relentless march to the sea. If she wanted to catch them she'd at least need a horse, and even then it would take a few days. There was nothing else for her to do, however. The longer she stayed alone, the greater risk she ran of encountering enemy patrols. She had no idea what they would do to her, but at the very least they'd know immediately by her accent that she was no Southern woman.

She spent the next few hours worrying, but encountered no one. As the sun began to set she found, on the edge of a forest, a cluster of fir trees that would serve as a place to spend the night out of any wind or rain that might spring up. She got a small fire going using her flint and tinder, and, regretting her lack of forethought before she left the plantation in terms of appropriate outerwear, prepared herself to be very cold. By this point she was so used to passing most of the day without food that she barely noticed her hunger. It took a long time for her to fall asleep, however, as the one luxury she'd grown used to while a captive was a soft bed. A nest of pine needles, while preferable to bare ground, was simply not comparable. Eventually, and knowing she was going to be terribly stiff in the morning, Lizzie dropped off.

She was awakened by a sharp jab in the side. As she sat bolt upright, scattering dry pine needles in all directions, her inner clock told her that it was still the dead of night. It was an hour when everything should have been silent and still.

"Well, what've we got, boys?" asked man with a lazy drawl. Lizzie blinked rapidly. She was surrounded by grey uniforms, each accompanied by a bayoneted rifle. A Southern patrol!

"Looks to me like a woman all alone, Sarge," one of the men replied.

"I know _that_, Johnson you half-wit," the first man snapped back, to mutual chuckles from the rest of the men, "I mean, what sorta woman we talkin'?"

"Give a man a moment, Sarge, and I'll find out for you," answered another of the Rebs. He seized Lizzie roughly and forced her to her feet and into the harsh light of the torches they carried. A chorus of whistles and half-whispered ribald comments arose as the men took in her face.

"Looks like we've got quite a winner here, boys," the man called Sarge said, stepping forward to run a hand down Lizzie's dirty cheek, "Seems it's time to call in my right to any spoils we find."

Noises of disappointment came from the rest of the men. "Sure you don't want to share the goods wiv' us, Sarge?" the first one asked with a wink.

"Johnson, wait your turn." Another of the men gave Johnson a good-natured clap on the back. "You see enough of the ladies when we go to town to last you the following threemonth altogether."

"A man can never have enough of pretty ladies," Johnson whined, but he was smiling, showing a set of broken teeth. "I see this time I'll have to just get in line."

"Too right you will, Johnson," Sarge replied. Taking a firm but not painful grip on Lizzie's hair with one hand and pinning her arms with the other, he began to lead her away from the rest of the men. Through the entire conversation Lizzie herself had stayed silent and tense. She'd heard every word as if from a great distance, knowing in her practical mind exactly where it was leading. She also knew that she was in a far worse situation than the one with Redgrave, where she'd actually been nominally given the opportunity to refuse. Thus she was saving up all of the fear and rage that was building inside her to throw into one last-ditch escape attempt. Pretending to be docile until the last minute was the key to this plan, when she would strike and then vanish into the pitch-black woods. Ideally she would escape entirely, but likely this was a forlorn hope. Her best chance was that it would teach them, however briefly, that she had some fight in her.

Just as she was preparing herself mentally to find the best possible moment to strike, a cold male voice spoke very clearly from outside her line of vision.

"I suggest, sir, that you unhand the young lady. At once."

Her captor spun her roughly around to face whoever had spoken. All four of Sarge's accompanying patrolmen had their weapons leveled at a tall, slim figure that stood uncompromisingly on the very edge of the torchlight, arms crossed. Her eyes widened and she stiffened as she recognized that face. The last time she had seen it, it had been twisted with rage. Now it was calm and composed, but the dark eyes were burning dangerously.

"And just how to do you plan to make me?" Sarge snarled, his hand tightening in Lizzie's hair. She whimpered involuntarily at the sudden pain.

"I won't have to," was the calm answer. The men looked at one another uneasily. Already the young plantation owner had them off balance with his complete lack of fear of their rifles and bayonets, which were still levered unwaveringly at his chest. He took a single step forward. There was a click as guns were cocked and readied to fire.

"Not another step or we'll shoot!" Johnson snapped, but there was a tremor in his voice.

"Very well," their adversary said evenly. "I shall give you one last chance to do as I ask voluntarily. Release the lady to me. Immediately."

"Or what?" Sarge enquired when no dire consequences followed.

"Or I shall take another step," was the puzzling response. The men glanced again at one another. Their expressions said clearly, _Is he mad?_

"Is this some sort a game for you, stranger?" asked Sarge, "There are four rifles pointed at your heart. Not something a man takes lightly."

"Then I assume the answer is no?"

Sarge responded with a phrase that Lizzie had only heard once in the Union camp. The soldier unlucky enough to use it in front of a superior officer had spent a week on latrine-digging duty. But it seemed not to affect the young man. With a very slight smile, he took one more deliberate step forward, so that his chest was mere inches from the point where all four bayonets met.

There was a flash and a roar of rifles firing. Lizzie could not help screaming aloud as her attempted rescuer's face was lit up eerily by the simultaneous blast of powder not three feet from him.

And then there was a silence as everyone in the clearing froze in astonishment and horror. For not only had the young man not been blown backwards by the sheer force of the explosion ripping into him, but there was absolutely no mark on him. Even in the rapidly dimming torchlight, this lack was frighteningly apparent. This was so utterly stunning that even Lizzie, who was only now realizing that she had been expecting something of the sort to happen, was frozen to the spot. Staring at the point where four bullets should have at the very minimum caused a rip in the well-cut shirt. But there was nothing there.

A full ten seconds had gone by before Johnson murmured, almost inaudibly, "Dear. God. In. Heaven." In the silence after the rifle's roar it was as loud as if he had shouted it.

As one, all five soldiers turned and fled, two of them leaving their torches stuck in the ground in their hurry to escape. Lizzie found herself being thrust unceremoniously forward in such a manner that she actually pitched _through_ her rescuer. She only just managed to put out her hands in time to catch herself before she hit the ground.

On the verge of blacking out from the shock of everything she'd just witnessed, she somehow managed to turn herself around to get a glimpse of her captor-turned-rescuer. As she sank down on the pine needles, she managed to see his shape falling beside her. For some reason inwardly gratified, she allowed the darkness to take her_  
_

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_Author's Note: Whew! Deep breath._

_Not much to say at the end of this chapter other than I tried to do Lizzie and the Ghost's argument about slavery in such a way as to be historically accurate, but wouldn't offend anyone. I hope I succeeded. There are other arguments that would certainly have been used at the time but are far from PC in this day and age._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	11. Out of the Wilderness

_Chapter 11  
_

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_Disclaimer: Insert anything that will allow me to avoid an encounter with Disney lawyers concerning ripping off Beauty and the Beast here._

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Lizzie returned to consciousness slowly. Her eyes opened onto more darkness, but after a few blinks she realized that she was looking at the greenish-black of pine branches that were moving in a light wind. She sat up, tenderly running a hand through her matted, dirty curls. Her scalp was still dreadfully sore. Thinking of Sarge's grip, she felt almost surprised that she hadn't lost more than a few chunks of hair in his hasty escape.

She looked around. It was still dark, but there was a lighter rim around the distant eastern horizon, telling her that dawn was an hour or so away. And beside her…

He was still there, lying sprawled faceup not a foot away from her right hand. She hadn't dreamed that. He really had rescued her from a truly dreadful fate at the hands of a Reb patrol. But why?

Reliving the last moments of the rescue, Lizzie decided to put aside questions of motive and explore a more pressing puzzle, one that had been unconsciously niggling at her since she had first met her brother's captor. He'd walked through solid walls that night. He seemed to make no noise when he moved, and she saw now that the needles around him were not bent down with weight as they were near her. And he'd taken four bullets in the chest just hours ago, yet there was not a mark to show where they should have torn his shirt and chest apart. This was all a great mystery, but it could be settled once and for all, at least in Lizzie's mind, by a simple test.

Carefully, she stretched out her hand and made as though she were going to place it on his where it lay perfectly still next to her. As she'd half-expected, her hand kept going until she was feeling the pine needles _under_ his hand. There was no sensation that she'd done anything other than place her hand on the ground in that spot. No tingles or feeling of chill marked where her hand melded seamlessly with his. The pine needles beneath him were not even warm from the heat his body should have produced over the previous hours of covering them.

"Now you know my secret," a voice said from beside her.

Lizzie yanked her hand back. Embarrassed, as if she'd been caught prying, she flushed and glanced up at his face. He hadn't lifted his head from the ground, but his deep, thunderhead-colored eyes were open. Their piercing gaze was fixed on her, but she also detected an unexpected glitter of humor there. She allowed herself a small smile. "It's not that much of a secret," she quipped, her voice shaky and rough. "I couldn't help but notice it!"

To her surprise, he actually laughed. It was a weak laugh, more of a self-depreciating chuckle than genuine mirth, but it was a laugh. "I admit I haven't done a very good job of keeping it, especially from you. Though it's not a secret, precisely. I only tried to keep you from confirming the suspicions I must have aroused that first night, so that you wouldn't—" He stopped in mid-sentence and looked away.

"What…who did this to you? How did you get like this?" They were inane questions, but in the sudden rapport she'd found with him she was abruptly eager to know.

He was silent so long she thought he hadn't heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he answered, "I haven't the slightest notion." He smiled a little at her completely baffled expression. "I know. You're thinking 'How could he not know what happened to him?' And you would be right in asking yourself that question. But the truth of it is, I woke up one morning on the floor of my kitchen…like this." He sat up and reached out a hand to rifle through the nearby carpet of pine needles. None of the needles moved.

Lizzie felt an unexpected stab of pity. "So what you're saying is, you can't touch or feel anything?"

"Nothing. Tables, walls, people, bayonets, bullets, anything you can think of. I can climb stairs, as you know, and I can sit on things, but those are anomalies I've yet to figure out." They were silent together for a few minutes as Lizzie absorbed this, and came to the sudden realization that she had a choice to make. She had a feeling she knew the end of the sentence he'd cut off abruptly. He'd just as good as admitted he had no real way to stop her, if she chose to leave. It had been his crippling handicap in their bargain all along, but only now was she learning what that meant. She had the chance, now, go back to the army, back to Robert, and pretend that her horrible experience at the plantation had never happened.

But she'd given her word not to run away. Now that she had calmed down from her earlier temper, she found that that promise still meant something to her. Her mother had taught her that to break a promise was to open the barn door wide for a wagonload of trouble. No good ever comes of breaking your sworn word, even if you believe you can get away with it scot-free, that's what Ma would say. Besides, her captor had now saved her life, which made her beholden to him at the very least. She owed it to him, and to her Ma's upbringing, to keep her word.

She grinned suddenly. "You took four bullets to the heart without a twitch. But then you _fainted_."

He flushed a deep, deep crimson, right out to the tips of his ears. "I…well, really, there's no acceptable excuse for such contemptible behavior. I heartily beg your pardon, Miss Bellevue." His dark eyes were dancing, despite his still-heavy blush.

"You're forgiven, provided it doesn't happen the next time you're saving me from my own folly. But truly…" It was her turn to flush. "I was angry, when I left the plantation. I said things…" She trailed away as he held up his hand.

"At the risk of slighting one another's deeply-held beliefs, let us spare explanations. We both lost our tempers, and spoke our strong opinions in a manner calculated to offend. I am an inherited slaveholder, and have been since I was a child. Your upbringing has taught you to hold such an…occupation…in contempt. I think perhaps in future we may be able to compromise more reasonably on this subject, but at least for the present…can we agree to a cease-fire?"

"At the very least, should we not discuss…certain issues until both of us are ready to hear the other's side?" He nodded. "I'll agree to that." Lizzie stuck out a hand. It was how she and Robert had always resolved their quarrels: with a firm handshake. But the tall young man before her just stared at her hand, then glanced at her with a slight questioning turn of his head. Lizzie felt her face grow hot a second time. "Oh! I forgot again. I'm terribly sorry! This is going to take some getting used to."

"No." He paused, thinking. "Let's try it. I think we may be able to manage at least the semblance of a handshake." Carefully, he extended his right hand. With only a bit of coordination, they formed their hands into the correct shapes and put them into the correct places. What followed would have appeared to be a handshake to anyone observing but was a very odd sensation for the participants, for they felt nothing but air. Still, it had the feeling of a new beginning.

"Should we…start back to the plantation?" Lizzie asked timidly into the awkward silence that followed the handshake.

He glanced at her sharply; she looked back steadily and nodded very slightly. A small smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. "I think as soon as we are able, Miss Bellevue. It will take most of the day as it is. What luck for us both that you thought to leave behind a clear trail to follow!"

Lizzie looked at him incredulously, in time to catch the briefest whisper of a wink. He certainly did like to joke, even at the most inopportune times. She smiled back to show she'd followed him and said as they started off back to the west, "Please, you can leave off calling me 'Miss Bellevue'. The only other person who regularly called me that was someone back in camp that I'd much rather forget. I'm much more comfortable with Lizzie."

"Very well. Lizzie," he said thoughtfully, as if tasting the word on his tongue. "I must admit I've never called a woman by anything but her surname before."

Lizzie looked away. "Really, you needn't feel obligated to treat me as if I'm quality. I'm about as far from a Society belle as one can get. All those civil niceties are meant for someone of far wealthier birth than me."

He shrugged noncommittally. It was now impossible to guess his thoughts on the matter one way or another.

There was another awkward silence. After a few minutes, Lizzie said, "Excuse the question, but what should I call you?"

"Hmmm?" He looked down at her, a bit startled it seemed.

"I mean to say, it seems quite silly for you to be calling me Lizzie when I can only call you Mr. ….Mr. ...good heavens, I don't even know your last name."

He smiled a little. "It's Whisper, if you must know."

"Mr. _Whisper_?" she said, a little too quickly. Then she flushed again, knowing she'd sounded disbelieving.

"Yes, but upon reflection I believe I'd rather you use my first name as well. Since we're dispensing with formalities, I have to say I've never particularly cared for being called Mr. Whisper. Colman will do quite well for me."

"Colman Whisper." She tried out his name, much as he'd tested hers.

"Just Colman."

"Colman." They glanced at one another, and then, without quite knowing why, looked away again.

They were quiet for the remainder of the morning, halting to rest at about noon mealtime merely out of habit, not particularly because they had anything to eat. Lizzie managed to find some winter berries in a sunny glade, so she was at least able to ignore her hunger and concentrate on walking. Still, she was staggering with weariness when they finally reached the dark plantation gates. Colman had been looking more and more worried, and a distant part of her mind realized that if she collapsed there was nothing he could do to help her. Through almost sheer will, she kept herself upright and moving. Thus it was a great relief to both of them when Lizzie pushed open the gates and wobbled unsteadily up the long drive. The sun was setting magnificently behind the house, but Lizzie was unable to enjoy it as she had to keep remembering to put one foot ahead of the other. She heard Colman shouting in the thundering voice that he used to order the slaves about, but it sounded very far away.

Warm, rough hands took her shoulders and steered her up the porch stairs and into the plantation house. "Just lookit the poor chil'!" Lilah's welcome voice exclaimed, "Worn teh the bone and likely chilled too, I warrant. Beggin' yer pardon, Massah, but we'll be takin' her upstairs teh her room straightaway."

Colman said something that was too soft for Lizzie to catch. But dimly she enjoyed the way his voice reverberated in her head. Pleasant and deep, but not too deep.

"Yassah," was Lilah's only reply. To someone else she said, "Take her right straight teh her room and put her teh bed. I'll be up as soon's may be with a nice hot broth." Lizzie felt herself being lifted in a pair of strong arms and carried up the polished stairs. In her dark, dim, comfortable room she was laid on the bed, where she floated in and out of hunger-laced sleep until Lilah arrived preceded by a delicious smell. First Lizzie was carefully undressed from her dirty, muddy clothes until she was in nothing but her chemise. Then she was tucked firmly into bed and fed, spoonful by patient spoonful, a wonderful clear broth that warmed her down to her toes. Almost before the last spoonful she was drifting back to sleep. Just before she dropped off she heard Lilah get up from her seat beside the bed and say to someone else at the door, "I've done. She'll sleep fer a good long while now, unless I miss my mark. And she'll be all well and ravening with appetite like an ol' brown bear outa hiba'nation when she wakes. You can sit wiv her now, if you like, but don' expect much in the way of conversation."

"I won't," chuckled a familiar deep voice. A tall figure took Lilah's place in the chair beside the bed. And then Lizzie was asleep_  
_

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_Author's Note: I've been on a writing spree recently, but I go back to school within the next few days. After things really start to get busy this semester I have no idea how much time I'll have to keep writing chapters. But I promise you all to do my best._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	12. Home Once More

_Chapter 12  
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_Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to Disney._

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Lizzie sat up, and then moaned involuntarily. She was starving! Her nose caught the ripe scent of food, and her mouth watered.

"Hungry?" asked Colman's voice lightly from her bedside.

Lizzie gasped and jerked her covers up to her chin; she had only just realized that she wore nothing except her lightest chemise, not even her slightly more decent nightgown.

This time Colman actually had the shame to flush. He jumped up and backed through the chair he'd been sitting in. If he'd been anyone else he'd have knocked it over. "I'm sorry," he said, continuing to back towards the door, "I had no idea Lilah hadn't dressed you in…" he trailed off. By this point he was halfway through the closed door. He paused, then said, "Eat your breakfast. I'll send Lilah up to help you, ah, dress, in a few minutes." He vanished.

Lizzie shook her head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she said aloud to the air. And then, because her stomach wouldn't allow her to do anything else, she tucked into the tray of steaming food that had been placed on the bedside table. Most of it was unfamiliar, but it was so nice to be eating warm, filling food again that she didn't notice until she was nearly finished. But by then Lilah was tapping at the door.

"Come in," called Lizzie.

"All finished?" the old woman asked. She smiled to see Lizzie's cheerful nod. "My, the roses in your cheeks are reassurin'!" she exclaimed. "When you came in yesterday your face wuz pale's ice!"

"I do declare I feel much better. Thank you, Lilah," Lizzie replied, sliding out of bed.

"And how'dja like your breakfast?"

"Just fine, thanks. What was it?"

"Grits'n egges. Same's we all git."

"Grits?!" Lizzie asked, startled. "I've never heard of such a thing. They're not made of…grit…are they?" Suddenly all the stories she'd heard of the mistreatment of slaves rushed into her head again.

Lilah chuckled aloud at this reaction. "I should say not. They're made've corn mush. Now, are you ready teh dress?" She was rummaging in the clothes press as she spoke.

Lizzie swallowed hard when a dress made of fine cotton was brought out, far nicer than anything she'd ever owned in her life. She'd stubbornly refused to wear any of the clothes she'd been offered in this house on the nominal principle of defiance of their owner. Now she had to confront the real reason: she'd been afraid of looking ridiculous, a poor girl masquerading as a wealthy one by wearing rich clothes. Both of her parents, while alive, had warned their spirited young daughter about acting above her station in life. She was a Pennsylvania farmer's daughter, a daughter of French immigrants to America only two generations back, and nothing could change that. Colman's family had likely owned this vast plot of land for generations, probably even stretching to back before the Revolutionary War. However, it now seemed that her old dress was no longer an option. Even the most skilled laundress would likely have trouble removing the dirt stains her escapade the day before had caused.

"Don't you have anything…plainer?" she asked eventually.

Lilah regarded her for a long moment. "Don' worry miss," she said at last. "Everythin' will be fine." What worry this was meant to reassure, Lizzie wasn't certain, but she submitted nonetheless. She hardly dared breathe as Lilah fitted and fussed with her underthings, more than Lizzie had ever worn at home. Then the smooth cool cotton was sliding around her. She couldn't imagine even silk feeling this soft on the skin. Next Lilah had her sit down in a lowbacked chair so that her unruly auburn hair could be combed out and done in an appropriate style at the nape of her neck. When she was finally permitted to peer into a looking glass, Lizzie was startled by what she saw. She still didn't look entirely healthy and robust—her days of near-starvation had seen to that. But with her hair done by an expert and the rest of her in a much more flattering dress than her old work clothes, the effects of her emaciation appeared much more marginal than they actually were. The clothes were also much more comfortable to wear than they appeared. Lizzie did not feel overdressed, as she'd half-expected, but she did feel as if she fit into this magnificent house a bit more. She insisted, however, on wearing her old workboots under the skirt and petticoats. The pretty slippers Lilah told her Colman's mother had worn about the house on cold days had no traction on the polished floors and Lizzie was afraid of falling.

_I wish Ma could see her schoolmarm daughter now, _she thought suddenly. _All dressed up like a little Southern lady. I don't know whether she'd be horrified or fall over dead from laughing._ A few tears trickled down her too-pale cheeks at the thought of her mother.

"May I come in?" called a voice from behind the door. Colman.

Lizzie whirled around fiercely. "Don't you _knock_?" she demanded, hastily scrubbing at her cheeks to get rid of unwanted tear tracks.

"I would, if I could, Miss Bellevue." Even with the door between them he sounded stiff.

Lizzie silently cursed herself for forgetting again. "I'm sorry. Yes, you may come in." She didn't know what made her say it, or what made her open the door so that he would be spared having to step through it.

"Thank you," he said automatically, and then he stopped. His stare wasn't rude or lingering, like Captain Redgrave's; Lizzie thought she sensed some admiration and even approval in his gaze. At last, he ventured, "That dress…suits you. Very well."

"I…thank you." There was a long, awkward pause.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" he asked at last.

"Yes, I did. Although I must confess you might have fed me the slops for the pigs and I wouldn't have noticed, I was so hungry. I shall have to sample the fare again in order to give you an assessment on the taste."

He laughed. "You'll never be given pig slops. The servants wouldn't permit it."

"And you would?"

He dropped one eyelid in a swift wink. "You'd never know until it was too late."

"I think I'm a bit more perceptive than that, when I'm not starving." She smiled at him, enjoying the playful banter. Since their mother had died, she and Robert had only talked of serious things when they were together. The other Daughters had joked and laughed with one another, but Lizzie had always felt like an outsider among them, not belonging enough to the group to share their amusement. Now a smile felt odd on her tear-stained cheeks, sobering her.

Unfortunately for her, Colman noticed. "What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"Nothing." She looked away. "Why do you ask?"

"You were smiling, and then it was as if you remembered some vow you'd made to yourself not to be happy. The smile sort of drained away."

This observation was so close to the mark that Lizzie felt fresh tears well up. What was wrong with her? She_ never _cried, not since she was a child and she'd forced herself to keep her tears inside at the boys' comments that girls were stupid and couldn't learn. Even years later at their mother's burial she'd been dry-eyed and stony-faced. But afterwards it had always felt wrong to be happy about anything, with her mother silent in the grave and unable to smile along. Lizzie sank down in the chair beside her and buried her head in her hands.

Only a few tears fell, and she made no noise. After she had composed herself, she looked up to find him still standing behind her, watching her in the full-length mirror. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice wobbling.

He looked at her reflection steadily. "Because I, too, once made such a vow. None that I ever spoke aloud, to anyone. Most of the time I never gave it a thought. But it was always there, restraining me whenever I could have been happy. I recognized the same feelings in you when I saw your expression a few moments ago."

"What changed your mind? You clearly have no qualms about enjoying yourself now." There was a slight amount of acid in her tone that did not escape him.

"You're right. I seem to have taken a turn towards the opposite frame of mind recently. I decided that I would make the best of whatever I had left of life, after—" He stopped. "What I mean it say is, it does no good to be miserable all the time in order to bring back what's past. You _are_ permitted to laugh and to do things you enjoy, even if your life can never be what it once was." One corner of his mouth crooked ironically. "Listen to me yattering on. I'm beginning to sound like a philosopher. But do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"Yes, I think I do." She stood up and turned to face him. They regarded one another for a few moments, each searching the other's eyes. At last, Lizzie looked down at his boots. "Thank you."

"I haven't done anything to be thanked for. I was merely trying to share what I've learned through my own experiences, perhaps to help you. Anyone would have done that."

"Not everyone," Lizzie answered thoughtfully. "I can think of half a dozen people who seem to believe that giving others a kind word or two is the greatest trial God ever sent them."

He said nothing for a moment, and then abruptly changed the subject. "Perhaps you might like a tour of the house?"

"Well…" she paused, wondering how he might take this news. "I've already seen most of it. I went…exploring a few days ago."

He smiled again. "I know. But I thought you might be able to enjoy it more thoroughly with a guide."

"How did you know I left my room?" she demanded. "Lilah told me she hadn't said a word to you!"

"She didn't." His smile widened. "I couldn't help but notice when you walked by the room I happened to be in at the time. I followed you, but you went straight back up to your room and closed the door, looking like you'd seen a ghost."

Uncomfortable images of exactly what she'd seen to make her appear that way to him chased their way across her mind. She brushed them aside. "I would like to see the house with a guide, if you wouldn't mind showing me."

"Right this way, then." He bowed her from the room.

_The girl's eyes were fluttering shut. Her father smiled, and smoothed a stray curl off her face._

_"Papa?" she murmured sleepily, "Don't stop…"_

_"Sleep now, dear one," he whispered in a voice so soft that it was barely audible, "I'll finish tomorrow night."_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise." He leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on her cheek. She was already asleep. He sat there in his chair for a few more minutes in the darkness, listening to her deep, even breaths. Then he stood up, stroking her still hand gently once before sliding noiselessly out the door with the ease of long practice.  
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_Author's Note: And so it begins. Hope all of you are enjoying so far! This chapter took a meditative tone after beginning with a bang of excitement, so I rolled with it. Indulge me some sober points in with all the fluff of "getting to know you"._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	13. Jeff Davis

_Chapter 13  
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_Disclaimer: Tale as old as time, yadda, yadda. Though if it were actually that old, Disney wouldn't own it…never mind. The lawyers are breathing down my neck.  
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_As promised, the story picked up again exactly where it had stopped the night before. The little girl was once again in her white nightdress, having been tucked firmly into bed by her mother a few moments before. From elsewhere in the house, the cries of a baby were audible._

_"Will you tell the baby this story someday, Papa?" the little girl asked, more to drown out the distant noises than because she really wanted to know._

_"Someday. When he's old enough to hear it, and enjoy it as you do. Now settle down, or I'll never be able to finish."_

Colman led Lizzie from her room and to the top of the stairs. He was trembling with nerves. For some reason he wanted Lizzie to think well of his house, though of course she'd seen most of it before. The feeling was ridiculous. He resisted the urge to jam his hands into his pockets like a five-year-old boy.

"There isn't much to see up here except the bedrooms on this floor, and the house servants and slaves' rooms upstairs," his own voice was saying in an apologetic tone, "And the attic, but of course there's nothing much there." He winced at this slip of the tongue, and glanced at her to see how she'd take this reminder of what he'd done to her brother.

Lizzie just looked at him steadily. There was comprehension in her light eyes, but she said nothing, allowing him to continue as if she hadn't noticed the unintended insult.

Colman cleared his throat, blessing her forbearance. "The ground floor is far more interesting," he told her, leading the way down the stairs. From room to room he led her, explaining as much as he could remember about the portraits on the walls and the knickknacks his family had collected over the years. Lizzie did not speak much, but when she did it was to ask for more information about a certain thing. He was astounded at how much she knew, her memory surpassing even his in a few instances about the famous people in some of the portraits. But then he remembered that she was a schoolteacher and a purported scholar. If he'd ever needed proof of this, she was offering it to him.

It was thus with great pride that he showed her his family's best collection. They had copies of the inauguration portraits of all of the Presidents of the United States stretching back to George Washington. Lizzie's reaction was just what he'd hoped for: she was clearly deeply impressed, moving with delight from portrait to portrait, regaling him with stories about the lives of her favorite presidents. Many of these he'd never heard before, and he forgot his nerves and was genuinely enjoying himself. Until they came to the end of the line.

Then the storm clouds began to gather. The portrait that appeared after President James Buchanan was clearly _not _of Abraham Lincoln.

"Jefferson Davis," Lizzie practically spat, "How _can_ you? President Lincoln was elected fair and square. The Southern states were still voting in the Union then."

There seemed to be absolutely nothing that Colman could say next, though there were many retorts he wanted to give. But he held himself to their hours-old promise and stood stiff as a board, clenching his fists and keeping silent.

Lizzie was glaring at him just as belligerently. Then she blinked, and took a step backwards. A blush stained her cheeks as she said, very sullenly, "I'm sorry. I forgot."

They stared at one another, mastering their tempers, unsure of what to do next. Completely at a loss, Colman did the only thing that came to mind: he choked out a shaky laugh. To his own ears it sounded weak and pathetic, but it did the trick. The corners of Lizzie's mouth crept up as well, and the dark thundercloud mood in the hallway vanished. "Is…is there anything else we can see?" she ventured after a moment.

Frantically he racked his brains for something they could both enjoy without clashing over ideology. And then it came to him, as if the idea had only been hovering at the back of his mind waiting for him to remember it. "Come this way." He led her down the hall. Swallowing hard, he added, "And can you forgive me?"

"For what?"

"For back there." He gestured behind him with his head at the receding portrait hallway. "It was foolish of me to show you. Within bare hours of promising to speak civilly to one another I had to go and test the limits of your tolerance."

"There's nothing to forgive," she answered, startling him with her firmness, "I really do admire your portraits. It's an impressive collection. I wish we'd had anything like that at home." She smiled dreamily. "I miss the times when all there was in my world was learning. There was worry and sorrow in that world, certainly, but books and their authors were my constant companions in the dark times."

He nodded. "I know how you feel." They paused in front of a set of closed double doors.

"These are locked. I can't get in," Lizzie pointed out, rattling one of the handles slightly for emphasis.

"Unless, of course, you know where to find the key," he answered with a smile. Bowing, he pointed to a small, dull-brass key tucked behind the frame of a nearby landscape. She started to reach for it, and another idea struck him. "Wait. Do me one favor, if you will?"

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

"Once you've unlocked the doors…could you…close your eyes?"

"Why?" A mischievous smile danced across her face. "Is there something laid right across the threshold that will trip me?"

He gave a genuine snort of laughter. "Oh, no! Nothing like that. Here, I'll go in first and check for you." He walked through the doors quickly. The dim room was exactly as he remembered it. "All clear. You may come in now," he called back through the paneled wood. He heard the rattling of the key in the lock, a click as the tumblers aligned, and the doors swung open. A swift check told him that her eyes were tightly closed. "Take five steps to your left until you come to a curtain," he told her, and she obeyed, feeling out in front of her like a blind person. He privately envied her ability to stop at the curtain, though she bumped into the window behind it rather hard. Wincing in sympathy, he continued, "Up and to your right is a thick tasseled cord." He waited until she had it in her hands before saying quickly, "Pull it, and then turn around and open your eyes."

Lizzie obediently pulled hard on the tassel, which opened the room to the powerful midday light. She gasped, her hands going to her mouth when she beheld what was behind her.

Every wall of the long, narrow room that stretched before her was filled with books. "So many…" she murmured in awe. "I've never seen this many in one place."

"My grandfather and his father were both avid collectors," he explained, basking in her reaction, "You'll find volumes here from before the Revolution. I don't think either of them read much; they were just interested in the books for their value. And they never got around to cataloguing, either. I was hoping you could help me with that."

"I don't know if I can," Lizzie replied doubtfully, still staring wide-eyed at the shelves of books. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Start in the middle and work outwards," he suggested. "Whatever you do to the place will be far better than the shape it's in now. In fact, I give this whole library to you, to do with as you please."

"Really?" Lizzie turned her wide-eyed grey gaze on him.

"Well…" he made a show of considering, giving her enough time to realize that he was about to tease her. "So long as you don't want to burn the place down. I would strenuously object to that, though I suppose you could if you really wanted to."

"No fear of that!" Lizzie exclaimed vehemently. "I shudder to think of all these beauties going up in smoke before I've even had a chance to look at them." But she smiled at him anyway, and he knew she'd realized he wasn't serious. Then she sobered slightly. "This is the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you."

"I…" he flushed. "It was nothing." It took him a moment to realize that there were tears trickling down her cheeks again. "Don't cry, please," he begged, "I'd be obliged to offer you my handkerchief, and I'm afraid it would be useless to you."

That startled a watery chuckle from her. "I suppose it would. I'm sorry. I really do like the library. I look forward to spending a great deal of time here."

"I'm glad you like it," he said, genuinely touched, "I only wanted to make you happy."

They looked at one another for a long moment. At last, it was Lizzie who broke the silence. "Well, when can I start?"

"Right away, if you choose. Do you want me to leave you here? I'll come back when Lilah tells me your meal is ready." She looked thoughtful, and he assumed she'd forgotten about him in her eagerness to delve into the pages of the books. He turned to go.

"No. Wait," she said, startling him again. "Stay with me," she requested quietly, looking him straight in the eye. "You might not be able to help me sort your magnificent collection, but I would….I would very much like have a companion while I work. If you don't mind."

"Not at all." One of the things he missed most about his old life was the ability to read things other than book titles.

At first, Lizzie was hesitant with the books, handling them with delicate care. But soon she was eagerly moving from shelf to shelf, sorting, explaining, and even gasping aloud when she found some rare treasure. He watched uncertainly for some time, wishing he could share in her world of books. However, he'd underestimated her enthusiasm and her skill as a teacher. Soon she had him walking from shelf to shelf, calling out names and titles for her to examine and sort. He remembered a few of these books from his own studies, but the extend of her knowledge astounded him. Several times she flipped open a certain volume, scanned until she found a certain page, and read aloud a passage or two. Then they'd discuss it while she sorted other books and he sat in a chair close by.

It was hours later when they both realized that the light was fading from the windows. "Goodness, it's late," Lizzie said, replacing a last book.

"You should be getting along to your supper." Colman was disappointed that the lack of light commanded them to stop. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in…he couldn't remember how long.

"Yes. Well." Lizzie looked uncomfortable for the first time in hours.

"What's wrong?" he asked as they started for the door.

"It's…" A light flush stained her cheeks. "I had it in my mind to ask you to keep me company at dinner, but I wouldn't feel right eating in front of you. Not when you…"

"Can't," he finished for her. His stomach clenched. He hated to disappoint her, but he wanted to at least say something that would make her feel that she shouldn't starve for his sake. "It's quite all right. I reconciled myself to other people eating some time ago. But if it bothers you that much, I can find other occupations while you have your meals. Good evening, Lizzie." And they parted ways, he leaving her standing before the dining room. Inviting smells followed him down the hall as Lizzie opened the double doors and went inside alone. He tried to ignore his mouth watering.

Once in his room, he sat down on his bed and stared out at the fire-purple colored landscape. Shadows were already creeping across the bare ground. Though he knew he should be brooding over his lot in life, that he couldn't even have a few bites of food in order to make Lizzie feel more comfortable, for once he couldn't bring himself to think about the curse. Instead, his mind was brimming with thoughts about what he and Lizzie had discussed during the day, and what new things they might discover in the library the next day.

Tomorrow was suddenly a thing to look forward to again, and Colman had forgotten how much he liked the feeling_  
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_Author's Note: A nice warm and fuzzy chapter, but of course given the ideological differences between Lizzie and Colman I can't write a chapter without some clash; their characters won't allow it to be otherwise. I will say that one of the things that I find a little odd about the movie is that we rarely see moments of awkwardness from Belle. Sure, she privately admits that she's uncertain, but she never acts unsure around the Beast. But it's got to be far weirder for her to realize she has feelings for him than the other way around. After all, he knows he's actually human and she has no idea. So even though of course both of my characters are human in shape I tried to show that they both have their awkward moments around each other even once they get past their I-can't-stand-the-sight-of-you stage. Hope you're enjoying, and the lack of reviews isn't an indication of boredom on the part of my readers. If you want me to spice it up, just let me know and I'll try my best._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	14. Oh Freedom

_Chapter 14  
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_Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Beauty and the Beast! What silly person would ever take _that_ idea into their heads? I'm just shamelessly ripping off the plot and characters. All perfectly innocent._

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And so the next few days went. And those after that. Before Lizzie had quite realized it, she'd been living on the plantation for nearly a month. Most of the time had been spent organizing the library, but she'd also found a few other things to occupy herself. She helped Lilah and the other house slaves in the kitchen because she refused on principal to let them wait on her hand and foot, and learned from them a few handy tricks about Southern cooking and spices in the process. She cleaned her own room and made her own bed. She did her own mending and sewing.

"My word, yer the easiest chil' I ever looked after," Lilah told her one day when she came into Lizzie's room and found her busily stitching a ripped hem. "I woulda done that if you jus' left it out fer me."

"I know. That's why I didn't," Lizzie answered, not looking up from her needle, "I'm not a doll to be dressed and petted and fed tea and sewn for. And I don't want to become lazy. Ma taught me to work hard and to earn my keep."

"She taught you well," said Colman's voice from the doorway. Lizzie jerked up sharply and stabbed herself with her needle. Once again she'd forgotten that it was impossible to hear the young man coming. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I startled you again," he said, coming a few steps closer.

Lizzie, sucking on her sore index finger and unable to answer, waved her other hand at him in a gesture of dismissal. "No, I'm all right. It wasn't your fault," she said when she finally removed her finger. She looked at it in time to see another bead of brilliant red blood well up. "Drat," she grumbled, rubbing it away. "Now I can't finish this hem. I wouldn't want to get blood all over this lovely cloth."

"Don'choo worry 'bout that, Miss. I kin do it." Lilah immediately removed the cloth from her hands.

"But…" Lizzie gave up. She dropped her hands into her lap as Lilah slid out the door with a sly wink.

"Never mind. We can go to the library instead," Colman said after a moment.

"At this rate, we'll soon finish organizing the entire room and be left with nothing to do," pointed out Lizzie, rising from her chair and shaking out her skirts.

"I had an idea about that." He led her from the room with a bow.

"Then we're in trouble."

He shot her a glance. In it were several emotions that Lizzie could not quite identify: surprise? humor? annoyance? or something else entirely? But then he gave his characteristic easy laugh, and Lizzie could almost believe that she'd imagined the look of the moment before. Almost.

"Are my ideas really all that terrible?" he asked, the laughter still in his voice.

Lizzie smiled at him mischievously, her discomfort forgotten. "Not always. What's this one?"

"You'll see."

If he had been her brother, she would have shoved him playfully. "That's unfair! Tell me!"

He smiled. "All right. What would you say if I told you that I wanted to pick your brain more extensively about some of that Shakespeare we were discussing the other day?"

"I'd say you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Why is that?" They turned the corner that led to the library.

"Because now you've given me an idea. It's something I used to do with my students when we looked at Shakespeare. And we used to do it at home." She paused, the key to the library in her hand. "When Papa was alive." She shook herself, and unlocked the doors. "What play did you have in mind?"

"I hadn't thought of one specifically. Why don't you choose for me?"

"Comedy, History, or Tragedy?"

"Comedy, please. If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Lizzie scanned the shelf. "What about this one? It's one of my favorites."

He looked at the title. ""Much Ado About Nothing?" Not one I have read."

"Good." She opened the book and flipped until she found the page she wanted. Then she propped it open on a book stand in such a way that they could both see it seated side-by-side in two chairs drawn up. "Here." She pointed to a line. "Read it." He started to scan the page silently. "No, no," she protested, "I meant read it aloud."

"What?" He looked up at her, puzzled.

"Trust me."

"All right." He sounded skeptical, but that strange look had flashed across his face again. And it vanished just as quickly as before. He turned back to the book. "I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina." He looked at her. "Now what?"

"Read it again. And imagine this: you're a prosperous old man. Your one wish in life is to see your only daughter happily married to some deserving man so that she will be taken care of after you die. And this letter is telling you that several bachelor noblemen are coming to visit, many of whom you and your daughter are already well-acquainted with."

He read it again, as she had instructed.

"Very good. I think you've got the idea. This won't be easy, considering there are only two of us, but I think we can divide the parts out without getting into too much trouble. Now, we're going to read through this play. It's always easier to understand a play when it's read aloud rather than silently to oneself. Of course, I've been told the best thing is to see it performed, but we never had the money or the means. So my students and I would stage our own productions, in the schoolhouse. We won't do that here, but it should be interesting nonetheless."

Comprehension dawned in his deep eyes. "I see!" And he turned eagerly to the book and began reading again.

And so it went. They especially enjoyed the scenes wherein Benedik and Beatrice engaged in their "merry war" of words, firing the lines back and forth as if they were the two quarrelers themselves. It took them several days to complete the entire play, but when it was over they moved on to "The Taming of the Shrew," which was just as enjoyable.

Looking back, Lizzie could have sworn that she blinked and suddenly it was March. At home, winter would still be holding everyone prisoner for at least another month, but here, spring had already began to creep up on them. Though it was still chilly, the days were balmier and the plantation's inhabitants could spend a few precious hours outside without freezing.

One late afternoon not long after the first of the month, Lizzie was helping Lilah plant an herb garden near the house. She and Colman had had another short-lived clash that afternoon over the education of slaves, and Lizzie felt it might be best to avoid him for awhile. Lilah kept on giving her sideways glances that Lizzie decided it was best to ignore. At last, the older woman spoke. "Wha'dya think of the Massah?"

"Colman?" Lizzie blinked. The question was an unexpected one. "What should I think of him? He's very easy to like, once one gets to know him. And once you see past his temper and his complacency about slavery."

"That all?"

"He has quite a dramatic flair for reading Shakespeare."

"That all?"

"Yes, of course. Why, what do you want me to say?"

"Nothin'. Come, let's go in. It's gettin' teh be dark." Lizzie thought that would be the end of the conversation, but Lilah stopped her just before they entered the kitchen. "Tonight'll be the first warm night of the year."

"It is?" Lizzie asked conversationally, though there seemed to be some hidden meaning in Lilah's words.

"Yes. An' we're havin' a dance tonight in the barn teh celebrate. Yer welcome, if yeh wan' teh come along. I'll come teh fetch yeh at the righ' time."

"I…" Lizzie considered rapidly. The implications of Lilah's invitation indicated that a great honor had just been offered to her. And at the very least, she was curious. "I'd be delighted to attend."

Lilah's smile was brilliant. "Ah, good. I'll tell the others teh be expectin' teh see you." And that was all that was said on the matter. Lizzie went up to her room to prepare for dinner, still slightly puzzled but looking forward to the evening nonetheless.

True to her word, Lilah was quietly tapping on Lizzie's door at about eleven o'clock in the evening. She put a finger to her lips when Lizzie opened her mouth to ask a question and motioned for her to follow. Moving as noiselessly as she could, Lizzie slid from her room and went after Lilah as the old black woman vanished expertly into the shadows of the stairs. It was only once they had exited the dead-still house was Lizzie able to whisper "Does he know about this?"

"The Massah?" Lizzie nodded. She saw Lilah's teeth flash in a quick smile. "Naw. We done this every year time outa mind, the Massahs ain't never found out. And we trust yeh enough to know yeh won't go tellin' him, neither. Come. We be late, else."

The interior of the barn was lit up with a few lanterns, bright enough to see by but dim enough that their rosy glow could not be seen beyond the wooden walls. Gathered there were all the plantation's slaves, old and young, even two mothers with toddlers. In one corner perched a solitary old man upon a rickety stool, cradling a worn banjo. As Lizzie and Lilah entered, everyone sat or stood up straight and looked at her, with her white skin pale as the moon and light eyes wide. Lizzie felt her face get hot, but then Lilah's son John stepped forward with a smile.

"Welcome, Miz Lizzie. It's an honor teh have yeh here," he said in his deep, restrained voice. Then he turned to the rest of the crowd. "Well, we all here, y'all. Let's git started." Immediately, the old man in the corner bent over his banjo and began plucking its strings with an astounding energy for one his age. Couples and groups paired off and began to dance.

It was like nothing Lizzie had ever seen. People clapped along in rhythm to the music, they smiled and laughed quietly, but the whole thing had a hushed atmosphere of giddy joy, with the underlying nerves at being discovered adding another layer of energy to the dancers' whirls. At first, Lizzie tried to stay on the edges of the barn and watch, but all too soon found that to be an impossibility. The slaves she knew from the kitchen swept her up to join them and began teaching her the steps.

Lizzie didn't know how long this went on. All she could recall later was a blur of brightly colored cloth and dark faces rushing by her, all smiling, all enjoying themselves. She, too, was so caught up in movement that the passage of time seemed irrelevant.

And then everything and everyone in the room seemed to freeze into statues. Lizzie, who happened to be on the edge of the dancers to one side of the main barn doors, peered curiously around her neighbor to see what had caused the sudden halt in the proceedings. And then her stomach seemed to squeeze in on itself.

A tall, pale shadow stood in front of the closed wooden doors, face stern, arms folded. Colman_  
_

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_Author's Note: Boo! Gotcha! _

_This chapter was originally going to be my ballroom scene, but I decided to push that back in favor of a bit more pumping of my readers' adrenaline supplies. As my roommate will tell you, I have an evil streak that usually doesn't last long. So look for the next chapter soon!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	15. Let My People Go

_Chapter 15  
_

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing. And certainly nothing as cosmically important as Beauty and the Beast. That belongs to the human race. And to Disney, of course._

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In that frozen moment, Lizzie caught herself thinking that the eerie silence which had descended upon the entire plantation could be heard for miles. Not a soul dared to breathe, including herself.

"What is the meaning of this?" Colman's clear voice said at last, cutting sharply through the room. "Well, speak up!" he demanded when no one said anything. There was a long, drawn-out pause as the slaves all stared at their master with blank, empty faces.

_This is all my fault, _Lizzie thought miserably, straining to hide her own feelings. _He must keep closer tabs on me than any of us suspected. And now they've been caught in the midst of one of the few things he does not control in their lives, all because of me._ Something inside her hardened. _I will not stand for this._ She pushed her way to the front and stood in before Colman alone, taking all of the fury in his expression upon herself. And she knew at last that they could no longer avoid their differences.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, striving for a light tone.

"Lizzie. I expected more of you than this." She had never heard that note in his voice before. Like his occasional strange facial expressions when he looked at her, it was impossible to assign to any emotion that she knew. Disappointment mostly this time, but mixed in with anger and confusion and a thousand other things. Her own fury mounted higher.

"You expected _better_ of me?" Her voice cracked. "Better than to accept a generous invitation from people I've grown to like and respect these past months? What could be better or more proper than that?"

"Lizzie!" Now his voice had grown to a thunderous roar. "This isn't some trivial matter, as you seem to want to pretend! This is a matter of propriety. You can't be seen with _them_!" His gesture took in the whole room of dark, staring eyes.

"And who says I can't?" Lizzie strained for control, though the room seemed to spin about her. "Where in any lawbook is it written that a white woman can't be seen dancing with colored people? Only in the lawbook of your mind, Colman Whisper, and that book is _wrong_." She paused to draw a deep breath. "Why can't you see? They all know that they could have left here long ago. You're helpless in the state you're in; you have absolutely no power to stop them. Did you ever then consider why all these people are still here?"

He looked as if she'd slapped him. "I…"

"It's because they're _people_. It's because they're _loyal_ to you. It's because they see someone good in you, deep down where you try to hide it. They know something happened to you, long before you were cursed, something that they couldn't prevent but felt obligated to try to remedy. Animals don't feel such things; they can't. No untied dog stays in a house where it's mistreated year after year, their bonds of loyalty aren't that strong. Yet these people have stayed. Can't you open your eyes and see what is before you?" The silence in the room seemed to echo with the pounding of her heart. She took another breath. "These are the people who have been kind to me, always. These are the people who have continued to obey you, even though they need not and could easily run away and go wherever they wish. And these are the people I've chosen to celebrate with this night." She took several steps backwards, until she could feel the heat from the mass of dark bodies behind her. She said, very softly, "I wish you could see them as I do, Colman. I look at them, and I see good people. And I look at you, and I see a good person as well, Heaven knows. Shouldn't good people celebrate life together?" And there she stopped.

Colman stood in front of the doors, looking at them all as if seeing them for the first time. His face turned chalk white; his hard expression crumbled. Without a word, he turned and charged back through the closed doors.

Lizzie was after him in a flash. Not far behind her were Lilah and John. Getting the door wasted a second or two, but between the three of them they yanked it open with minimal time lost. They could see Colman's retreating figure, pale shirt and hair flying, halfway already to the house.

"Wait!" Lizzie called after him, hiking up her skirts and running through the mud that sucked at her old workboots.

"Why?" Colman whirled on her. In the dim light spilling from the barn behind them, Lizzie saw the glitter of tears in his eyes. "You clearly have no respect for me at all. None. Just leave me in peace."

"No! How can you say such a thing? I have a great deal of respect for you." Lizzie started to reach out and touch his arm, but withdrew just in time.

"You were right to say all those things to me." His voice wobbled, like a small child. "You must think me a monster," he whispered at last.

"Never." Her voice was steady. Behind her, she heard the slow, measured breathing of Lilah and John. Waiting patiently, as always.

"There is no excuse for what I am. What I've become."

"No. There isn't. But anyone can change. If they choose to." Lizzie clasped her arms behind her back to keep them from shaking at her need to touch him, to comfort him.

There was a long silence. Then, Colman said quietly, "Lilah?"

Lizzie could hear the smile in Lilah's voice. "Yassah?"

"I'm…sorry. For everything."

"S'alright, Massah. I seed many a thorn grow into flow'rs in my time. Some jus' takes longer t'bloom, is all. On'y the Lord knows when it's time."

"Thank you." His voice was dull. He turned to go back into the house.

"Wait. Won't you join us?" As she said this, Lizzie glanced at Lilah and John, for confirmation. They smiled and nodded.

"Truly? After all I've done?"

"Truly. Yeh'd be welcome." Lilah's teeth were gleaming, her smile was so wide.

"Very well, then. Lead the way." All four of them trooped back across the lawn, towards the light in the barn.

At first, Colman hung back, perching himself on a bale of hay to watch the dancers. Lizzie sat beside him. Her outburst had left her feeling drained, empty, but deep inside she felt a flickering warmth of triumph. After nearly half an hour, she felt ready to take on a new challenge. She stood, and offered a hand to Colman. "Come on. Let's join in."

"What? I can't. You know I can't." Colman stared at her hand like it was a foreign thing.

"I don't care. We'll improvise. It can't be any harder than a handshake."

He smiled at that memory. "I suppose not." Carefully putting his own hand forward so that it appeared to meet hers, he 'allowed' her to draw him to his feet and into the other dancers.

It was awkward at first, as both of them had known it would be. Performing a dance wherein the partners cannot physically touch is no easy task, even if the dancers themselves were perfectly at ease with one another. Lizzie and Colman had all of these factors to deal with, in addition to the knowledge that everyone else on the barn floor was watching them out of the corners of their eyes. But soon their limitations became jokes to smile at, and they laughingly twirled their way through the rest of the evening until nearly dawn.

And then it was over. Lizzie blinked, somewhat confused. The music was finished; people were slipping by ones and twos and threes out of the barn towards the house or nearby slave quarters. Colman himself, whom Lizzie could have sworn had been by her side a moment ago, was talking quietly in one corner with Lilah and the old fiddler. Lizzie, watching this, felt a surge of pride. Instead of issuing orders and waiting impatiently for replies, Colman actually seemed to be having a conversation with the slaves. After a minute or two the conversation ended with quick nods from the elder two participants, and Colman came back to Lizzie. He nodded towards the edge of the room, and she followed his lead, matching pace as they made their way to a place near the barn wall.

"What was that about?" she asked, with an eye-flick at the retreating backs of Lilah and the fiddler.

His smile was impossible to interpret in the dim lamplight. "You'll see."

She glared. "Can I take any more surprises tonight?"

"This one will be much more pleasant of a prospect, I promise you. Go on back to your room. I've requested that Lilah meet you there." He took one step backwards, though the wall, and vanished.

Lizzie pounded on the wood once with her fist, to tell him that these new mysteries were _not_ appreciated. A chuckle floated to her from the other side. From the sound of it, he was already several paces away.

Resisting the unladylike urge to swear aloud, Lizzie rested her sweaty brow against the wood and thought for a moment if there was any way to thwart his plans, just to let him know that she did not like being played with at this hour after a night of dancing. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but trudge wearily back to the house through the mud, back up the stairs which seemed to grow taller with every step, and into her room with its achingly comfortable-looking bed.

As promised, Lilah was waiting. She had her back to the door when Lizzie came in, but when she turned around Lizzie could not help gasping at the beautiful dress that was tumbling from the dark woman's arms. It was made of rose-pink silk that looked as light as a cloud, and was covered all over with lace and ribbons and tiny seed pearls.

"Oh, my." As if in a dream, Lizzie drifted forward to stroke the rustling material with a trembling finger. She'd never dreamed of ever _seeing_ a gown this wonderful, let alone being close enough to touch it. And then Lilah held it out to her. "Oh, no. He's gone mad. _This_ is what he wants? I could _never_ wear this. It's not for someone like me."

Lilah gave a gentle smile, and draped the dress carefully over the bedcover in order to fetch the corresponding underclothes. "I happens tuh think that the Massah took what yeh said tuh him tonight t'heart. About lookin' inside a person rather than at her birth or circ'mstances."

"I…" Lizzie closed her mouth. There was nothing she could say to that. Meekly, she allowed Lilah to help her get out of the plain dress she'd worn to the dance_  
_

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_Author's Note: The ballroom scene just keeps getting longer and longer. So stay tuned! More excitement yet to come. (Possibly in a week or so, when my Spring Break finally starts). Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, I honestly didn't mean it. I was really, really sick this past weekend and had no energy until now._

_I am a student of history and I strive for accuracy, which forces me to add this one more thing concerning the chapter: the sentiments expressed about African Americans by Lizzie are largely modern ones, born of the Civil Rights movements of the 1960's. We can debate all we want about the American Civil War being fought to end the evils of slavery and the facts say that it was, at least in part. But it was to end slavery, not to bring people of color to equal standing in the country with whites. Even Northerners of the time were grossly racist when it came down to the idea of giving black people equal treatment, Abraham Lincoln's idealism aside. Almost no one thought that blacks could ever be the intellectual, moral, economic, etc…equals of whites. Instead, they would always be child-like people to be taken care of. Sad to admit, but there it is. This isn't to say that I hold this belief, or ever did. It's wrong. I'm just saying this was the generally accepted view on people of color at the time of the Civil War. Very few white people thought like Lizzie, or would have expressed any similar sentiments. In that way Lizzie is truly a creation of my mind, because I have given her the mindset of a modern woman as I look back on an age that is now long past. I hope no one was too offended or too bored by the quick history lesson._

_SamoaPheonix9_


	16. Aura Lee

_Chapter 16  
_

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_Disclaimer: This story belongs to everyone and everything (including a certain corporation based in animation) who had a hand in it._

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Downstairs, Colman paced back and forth. When he'd originally conceived his idea while at the slaves' dance earlier, he had thought it a brilliant one, but now he was not so certain. He berated himself for so wanting to teach Lizzie to dance in the best Southern way that he'd likely overstepped. He knew well how much his guest disliked dressing above her station. What if she refused on principle when she saw the dress? Colman knew that his mother had worn that particular dress to the ball where she'd met his father, but she had been the daughter of another wealthy plantation owner then, not a poor Northern schoolmarm who was curiously unselfconscious about class except in the way she dressed. Though she had never said as much to him, Colman had a guess about why Lizzie was so scrupulous about the status of her clothing: being the idealistic, independent woman that she was, she preferred to earn what she got. The dress waiting for her upstairs was worth more than she could ever make in a lifetime of teaching. Colman swallowed his nerves at her reaction and waited.

Movement flickered at the top of the stairs. Colman turned, and was struck dumb.

There was a woman waiting at the top of the stairs, but she wasn't the Lizzie Bellevue that he had grown to know over the last months. This woman looked elegant and noble, the dusty rose of her dress just right to set off the colors of her auburn hair, pale skin, and brilliant grey eyes and bring them into perfect harmony with one another. The hair itself looked smooth and perfect, while a stray curl or two regularly escaped from Lizzie's usual hairstyles. Instead, those curls spiraled down in glossy ringlets set with strands of silk and pearls. Gone from the face and body were any traces of the fatigue and starvation that had been the legacy of her time in the Union camp and her first week in captivity at the plantation. The woman at the top of the stairs was glowing with health. She did not even look tired, despite the lack of sleep and the exertion of the previous night. He could not think if he had ever seen any woman so beautiful.

Colman closed his wide-open mouth and took a closer look as he ascended the stairs to meet the young woman waiting for him. She smiled at him, and he could see the Lizzie he knew in her again. The way she quirked her mouth when she smiled always made him think she was enjoying some private joke.

She smoothed gloved hands down her silk skirts, taking care to avoid the intricate frills. "I must truly look like someone else," she said when he was close enough to hear her. "I certainly didn't recognize what I saw in the mirror, and from your reaction I judge you thought the same."

"I knew it was you the moment I saw you," he lied. "You always look this lovely."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you know anything about me at all, you know that I distrust idle flattery."

"Very well, you caught me. I didn't recognize you; you look entirely different in that gown. But the flattery wasn't at all idle. You do always look beautiful."

"Thank you. It isn't true, but thank you anyhow." She looked down.

He let the point drop. "Well, shall we go down?" he asked, offering her his arm. Lizzie took it with delicate care, arranging herself so that to all appearances they were descending the stairs as if at a grand ball with her fingers resting on the inside of his forearm. He wished he could feel her grip so that he might have some indication of any discomfort that she was hiding from him in face or voice. But, as always, he felt nothing.

On the way to the ballroom, they passed through the hall with the inaugural portraits of the presidents. He attempted to hurry by it, but since he could not give Lizzie an indication of this he ended up leaving her slightly behind. Long enough for her to pause at the end of the line, and to notice the empty space beside James Buchanan.

"I…I had them take it down," he mumbled after a moment's silence, looking at his boots.

Lizzie smiled, ever so slightly, but with that clear wisdom of situation she sometimes displayed, she refrained from commenting until they continued on past the empty space. Then, she said, very softly, "I'm proud of you."

He looked away. "I've betrayed my country."

She said nothing.

"I know that isn't how you see it. You think I did the right thing." He paused, but still she was silent. "Don't you?"

"I do. But that doesn't matter in the least. What matters is _why_ you did it."

She had him there. Even now, after months of sharing the same house and spending copious amounts of time together every day, she still retained that ability to throw him off balance at a moment's notice. Where did she get that talent of seeing right to the heart of an issue that unsettled him? They were silent for the rest of the walk to the ballroom, each thinking their own thoughts.

They halted at the open double doors to the ballroom. The room itself was two stories high with floor-to-ceiling windows that were draped in heavy forest green velvet edged in gold. The walls were stark white with golden accents where they met the ceiling and floor. The ceiling itself was also white, painted with abstract designs that appeared to be long golden streamers reaching to the center, where a dusty crystal-and-gold chandelier hung. It was clear that no one had used the room for quite some time.

"You didn't show me this on our first tour of the house," Lizzie commented after a moment. Her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous room.

"To be honest, I didn't think of it. When both of my parents were alive, this room was the center of activity. I vaguely recall having parties or balls here at least once a month. But then my mother died, and my father no longer had a hostess to arrange to things. This room was shut up then. We attended parties still, and even after he was gone I continued to do so, but I never hosted anything myself. After the curse, of course I didn't…couldn't…go out anymore. And I forgot about this room…until now. Until you reminded me tonight what it was like to dance. So I thought I would return the favor and teach you what I used to know of dancing."

"This is your surprise, then?" She left his side to take a few steps into the room, her footsteps loud on the marble floors. Then, unexpectedly, she twirled in place, arms spread wide, eyes closed, silken skirts whispering ever so softly. After a turn or two she stopped, looking back at him with her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. The expression on her face made his heart begin to pound. She smiled. "This feels as if it's a magical dream come true. I've always wanted to learn to dance like the gentlefolk, though I never imagined I would be wearing a gown such as this."

Something warm filled his chest as she spoke. His head swam, and he shook it ever so slightly to bring himself back to reality. "Well, you're about to find out. Come over here, and let me show you the basic steps. It's quite simple, really." He glanced down at his ordinary cotton shirt and slacks and unpolished leather boots, and almost winced when Lizzie's fine skirts came into his view. "I must apologize for my own appearance, Lizzie. Ordinarily, I would be dressed to suit the occasion as well."

"I quite understand, though I must admit I rather feel a bit overdressed in comparison with you rather than vice versa. Shall we begin? I don't know the first thing about how to start." She smiled again.

_I do wish she would stop smiling, or I'll never be able to concentrate on teaching her, _he thought as his heart drummed painfully again. He took another step forward so that his boots were mere inches from her hem, and said, "Now, you put your hand here, as if it were on my shoulder. My hand will be here, on your waist. Put out your other hand, and if circumstances were otherwise we would actually clasp hands. As it is, we've done pretty well before now in improvising. Yes, that looks right. Now, the basic step for a waltz is a very simple three-count in your head. The step is like so." He demonstrated, very slowly so that she could see exactly what he was doing with his feet. Lizzie, after watching for a few moments, mimicked him, but with the opposite feet so that when put together they would move in harmony.

There was a tap at the door. The old banjo player stood there. This time he had a fiddle in one hand, but his wrinkled face looked worried. "Massah, may I speak tuh you fer a moment?" he asked, very low.

"Certainly, Josiah. What's the matter? Did one of the strings on your fiddle pop?" Colman asked, puzzled but trying to keep his tone civil. Josiah was Lilah's brother, and he'd known Colman as long as his sister.

"Nah, nah, nothin' like that. Per'aps we migh' speak…in private?" The old man's eyes flicked to Lizzie, standing with her hands clasped a pace or two behind his master.

Something clenched in Colman's stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. "Very well." They stepped into the hallway, and Josiah closed the doors behind them. "What seems to be the trouble, Josiah?" Colman asked in a whisper.

"There's…a young man at the door. He come a-knockin' not five minutes past, askin' if he could pleeze talk tuh Miz Lizzie. Lilah send me tuh tell yeh right away."

"Is it her brother?" asked Colman, the knot in his stomach tightening further. He had feared that Robert might return to fetch his sister as he had promised, but as months had passed with no sign of him Colman had begun to hope that the other man's army duties had kept him far away. From the sound of things, that had been a forlorn hope.

"Nah, Massah, t'aint her brother. I'd recognize that shade of hair anywheres. It's a stranger-boy, in Yankee blue, keeps a-sayin' he's gotta speak wiv Miz Lizzie right away." Josiah paused, searching Colman's face with his ancient eyes. "You gonna tell her?" He nodded towards the closed door.

Colman looked away, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. The knot in his stomach had turned to ice, and now the ice was slowly creeping up to encase his heart. "I must. I must tell her. Even if she's not listening to us now, it would be wrong of me not to any anything to her, though I fear the worst."

"We kin always send the boy away. Tell him the girl's not here no more. She ain't never need tuh know," Josiah said, his face impossible to read.

Colman dismissed the idea immediately. "But I would know. And it would torment me every time I saw her. No, I have no choice. I cannot keep her from meeting with this visitor, if she wishes to see him."

Josiah glanced at the closed ballroom doors, then drew Colman further down the hall. In a voice so low it was barely audible, the old man said, "Yeh care for the girl, doncha Massah?"

"Yes. More than I've ever cared for anyone," Colman answered, his voice steady and just as quiet.

"D'yeh love her?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, striking him dumb and immovable. Those moments seemed the longest of his life, as he searched his soul. Did he love Lizzie? Certainly he liked her a great deal. She was kindhearted, idealistic, intelligent, high-spirited, and a thousand other qualities that he'd come to admire and respect. True, she had just as many qualities that irritated him. The two of them rarely went through a week without clashing over something. But they always seemed to reach an understanding afterwards, once they'd let their tempers cool and were able to see things rationally again. They were never angry with one another for long. And he knew that he had his answer. "Yes," he said.

Josiah's only reaction was a very slight smile, as if he'd already known what Colman was going to say. "Then go do what yeh think is right, and don' regret it." And he bowed himself out from between his master and the doors to the ballroom.

Colman swallowed hard. Then he steeled himself and walked back through those doors.

Lizzie was waiting, but Colman was relieved to see that it appeared as if she'd been pacing, not eavesdropping. "What's the matter?" she asked the moment he reappeared.

"There's a young man who seems to have come here to see you." The words were hard to get out.

Lizzie's face turned chalk white. "Is it…is it…?"

"No, Lizzie, it is not your brother. But he specifically asked to speak to you, and he is wearing a Yankee uniform."

"But that means…something must have happened to Robert." Lizzie's face turned even whiter, if that were possible. For panicked moment, Colman thought she was going to fall, with him unable to catch her. But then, to his great relief, she seemed to pull herself together. She stood up straight. "Where is this messenger?" she asked.

"Josiah will take us." With that, they left the ballroom at a swift pace.

When they arrived at the kitchen, Lilah was serving a pottery cup of tea to the young soldier, who was seated at the big table with his back to them. He stood up when he heard them enter, and his eyes almost started out of his head.

"M-Miss Bellevue? Is't really you?" The young man was hardly more than a boy, perhaps sixteen. There were dark marks of exhaustion on his face.

"Billy? Billy Samuels? What on _earth_ are you doing here?" Lizzie exclaimed. "Here, sit down, you don't have to stand up for my sake," she added, pushing him back into his chair.

"You're dressed like a _queen_." Billy seemed unable to take his eyes off her.

"Never mind that now," Lizzie said briskly, "Why are you here, Billy? Did something happen to Robert?"

He nodded, gulping more tea. Lizzie's shoulders sagged, and the ice around Colman's heart thickened. When he was finished drinking, Billy began. "He was arrested, barely a week past. By Captain Redgrave. For attempting to desert."

"Oh, Lord. He must have been trying to come back here to fetch me, now that the worst of winter's over." Lizzie sat down on a stool Lilah had thoughtfully brought for her.

"That's what I figured too, Miss Bellevue, me bein' the only one asides him who knows what happened to you and where you was. So I came out here to tell you."

"How did you get out without being arrested as well?" Lizzie asked.

"I told our unit commander, Littleton, that Robert's next of kin ought to be notified of his arrest. He gave me permission to come out here and give you the news you myself, since I told him I didn't think a letter would reach you. He didn't ask too many questions; I don't know what all Robert might have told him in private about your circumstances. So here I am, miss."

Lizzie put a hand over her face. "Thank you for bringing me the news. What is the sentence?"

"Desertion's a serious crime, miss," Billy said. "It's treason. At worst, he might get the death sentence, which I'm afeared he may. Captain Redgrave has no love for your brother."

"On account of me. Oh, God, why?" Tears were trickling down Lizzie's pale face.

"Lizzie," Colman broke in, as gently as he could, "May I speak with you for a moment? Out in the hall?"

As if in a daze, Lizzie rose to go with him. When they were out of earshot, Colman said, "Who is this Redgrave? And why do you think he'll punish your brother harshly because of you?"

"Redgrave is a superior of my brother. He tried…" her voice wavered. "The scoundrel made advances, while Robert was out on patrol and unable to protect me. I refused him, threatened to turn him in to his superiors if he didn't let me go. He grabbed me. I scratched his face and managed to escape, but the marks I left were an unmistakable sign to his men that a woman rejected him. I haven't seen him again since then. But I have the awful feeling that he's using this arrest as an excuse to draw me out. To even the score between us."

"Then don't go back! Stay here, where it's safe." Colman exclaimed. He was horrified at the thought of Lizzie facing such a vindictive man alone.

"I have to try. If I appear, he may at least rescind the death penalty. I'll do anything to keep my only family from being executed on my account."

Colman took a step back. When she put it like that, she really did have no choice. He sighed, thinking of his own curse. But at the moment, it seemed so insignificant when compared with her brother's plight. "If that's what you feel to have to do, then I release you from your promise to stay here."

"What? You won't keep me here any longer? I'm no longer a prisoner?"

"You haven't been my prisoner since the day you found out about my curse. How could I keep you here? But I release you from your obligations to me. Go to your brother, if that's what you think you must do." He turned his face away slightly so that she wouldn't see the pain this was causing him.

"You could come with me. Leave this place," she suggested.

He laughed bitterly. "In this state? What would I be but a ghost to the mortal flesh-and-blood world? And what's worse, I'd be powerless to help you. No, I belong here. You belong with your brother. It's best for us both if you go now, and forget me. Get on with the life I would have stolen from you."

She looked hurt, deeply hurt. "How can you ask me to forget you, or this place? The months I've spent here were some of the happiest I've ever known."

It lightened his heart somewhat, to hear her say that. But he knew she didn't feel as deeply for him as he did for her. She loved her brother more, which was only right. He tried to smile. "Then, when you pack, send someone to fetch "Much Ado About Nothing." I want you to take it with you, to remember me by."

"Thank you. I will." She started to turn away to go back to the kitchen, then stopped. She hesitated for a long moment, and then said in a very low voice. "I have something for you too. Something you should see."

"You don't have time to show me anything. You should be leaving as soon as you can, if you're to change your brother's fate."

"You're right. Very well, I'll just tell you, and hope it's enough. There's a trapdoor in a back corridor from the house, the part that no one uses. It leads down into a cellar."

He was puzzled by this. "A cellar? There aren't any cellars that are reachable from inside the house."

"That's what Lilah said, too, but I wasn't sure…" Her voice trailed away, then she shook herself and continued, "Anyhow, the cellar is there, I promise you. There's something inside…something important to you. Something that might help you. I hope it will." She went back into the kitchen.

It was only after she had changed out of her magnificent ball gown and left the plantation for good, riding before Billy on his horse, that Colman found the courage to go in search of her supposed trapdoor. To his great surprise, he found it, right where she had said. He got Lilah's son John to open it and put a torch in the earthy floor. The flickering light threw eerie shadows onto the walls, which were also made of earth. Colman asked John to wait at the top of the trapdoor. For some reason he felt that he had to see Lizzie's secret alone, though he was inexplicably terrified at what he might find in this mysterious place that should not exist.

Slowly, he made his way down to the end of the empty room. Or was it empty? Something large and dark took up space at the very end. The torch was now so far behind Colman that he could barely see what it was, even when he was right up close to it. From its shape, it appeared to be a waist-high bier made of something he couldn't identify without his sense of touch. On the top of this rectangular object was unmistakably…a human body. Colman leaned closer, straining to see the features in the dim torchlight. Then a sudden blast of air from the trapdoor caught the torch, throwing the end of the room where he stood sharply into focus for just an instant. And Colman found himself inches from his own face.

He leapt back, barely suppressing a cry of shock. Shaking, he forced himself to step forward again and examine the body more closely. Yes, it was his own, dressed just as he was. As he watched in horrified fascination, it breathed in and out, in time with his own breaths. If he held his breath, the body also did not take a breath until he did.

"Lord God in Heaven," he murmured. Cautiously putting his hand forward, he tried to touch the body's shoulder. And for the first time in years his skin met something that it did not simply pass through. His insubstantial hand did not penetrate his own solid flesh. Though he should have felt relief at being able to touch something, anything, instead a great despair welled up in him. He felt as if he'd found a lock that he did not possess the key to, a lock that if he could only open he might get his life back. But the key was gone, left only hours before, never to return.

Colman sank to his knees in the dirt beside the bier, tears flowing silently down his face. "Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie," he gasped in a choked whisper. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier? Why did you tell me now, when it can only haunt me, along with my memories of you?" He gasped in a breath. "I know why this happened. I know why I could find the trapdoor after all these years, but my wandering spirit can't enter my own body. It's because only half of the curse is fulfilled. I fell in love with you, but I never earned your love in return for mine. To think I once believe that to be easy. And now it's too late. Too late."

He lay hunched on the ground long after the torch had gone out_  
_

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_Author's Note: I hope you have a box of tissues handy at this point. Apologies for the abnormal length of this chapter, I could not find a good place to break it in two without seeming awkward and making one of the chapters far too short. Hope all the details are making sense so far!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	17. Marching Home Again

_Chapter 17  
_

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_Disclaimer: Credit? Who said anything about taking full credit for this? As a history student I know that any piece of writing is _never_ the work of one person, and failure to properly acknowledge thus leads to serious consequences. Usually involving national public humiliation and other nasty undisclosed things that they tell you about only _after _you enter the history profession. So, to forestall all of that, I own nothing._

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Lizzie rushed up to her room in the plantation, her heart thudding with a mixture of joy and confusion. She was free at last! She'd longed for this day, hoped for it beyond hope. So why did she feel as if she were doing the wrong thing in going back to camp? Her brother needed her, desperately. She'd even been freed of her promise to stay here, relieving her of the burden of choice between Robert and her conscience. Or so it should have been when Colman released her. But something about the look on his face as he'd done so had tormented her, and continued to do so.

She still had no idea why she'd told him about the hidden cellar. There had been a thousand and one opportunities for her to have done so over the past months, but for some reason the time had never felt right. And there had always been the niggling doubt, the voice that said quietly that he must already know about it; he knew everything else that went on within his dominion. The mere thought of that cellar was already so unsettling to Lizzie that it had been easy to justify pushing it out of her mind. However, for some reason its image had appeared again to her just as she was about to return to the kitchen to inform Billy and the slaves of her decision. Without really thinking about it, her mind occupied by other things, she had told him. From his reaction, he honestly hadn't known about it, which had pinched Lizzie with a twinge of guilt for not speaking up earlier. She had pushed that aside as well for the logistics of packing.

As promised, she had attempted to send someone to fetch "Much Ado About Nothing," after finishing changing out of her magnificent ballgown. She had forgotten in her haste, however, that none of the slaves could read more than a few letters each. Lilah had looked at the floor when the book was mentioned, a blush staining her dark cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Lizzie had said, blushing herself. "I'll fetch it, if you could continue packing my saddlebag."

"Right away, Miz Lizzie." Lilah shot her a reproachful look as Lizzie bolted out the door.

The small amount of packing was done when Lizzie returned from the library, bound leather volume in hand. Lilah was nowhere to be seen, and Lizzie got the distinct impression that she was being avoided. With an unhappy shrug, she slipped the play in on the top of her saddlebag and strapped it shut. Then she carried it downstairs and out the door, where Billy was waiting in the lane with his horse. No one was there to bid the pair of them farewell, though all of the house's front windows felt like watching eyes. Lizzie would have bet everything in her saddlebag that behind each of the closed curtains were at least two people peering at their departing guest. Lizzie was a disappointed and a little hurt that Colman had not come out to say farewell, but she feebly told herself that it didn't matter. She pulled herself up on the horse, and Billy mounted behind her.

"Wait!" Billy swung the horse around at the male voice behind them, and Lizzie's heart unaccountably leapt. Colman was running down the steps towards them. He stopped a few feet from the horse and approached at a much slower pace so as not to startle the animal. The horse eyed him, and Lizzie wondered irrelevantly if it was puzzling as to why Colman had no smell.

"Yes?" she said, when Colman seemed in no hurry to speak.

"I couldn't let you go." He cleared his throat. "Without saying goodbye, I mean," he added hastily.

"Oh. Well, goodbye." Lizzie had been hoping for some reason that that was not all he had been going to say. She cleared her own throat awkwardly. "Thank you for everything. You—all of you—have been very kind." There were another few moments of silence. Billy spared both of them having to come up with anything more to say by kneeing the horse forward.

"Goodbye!" Lizzie turned in the saddle to wave as Colman dropped behind. He raised his hand, and did not move for as long as she looked at him. Lizzie only turned around when he grew too small to see.

Billy was clearly a good horseman, and knew his horse well. He did not press the animal at all to go faster than a trot, not with a long way to go and two riders instead of one. The riders themselves did not talk much over the next day. Lizzie slept sitting upright for much of that first ride, which prevented Billy from asking any of the questions he was clearly burning to put to her.

On the second night when they camped, it seemed Billy could not keep quiet any longer. "How did they treat you, on that plantation, Miss Bellevue?" he asked. "I always imagined you locked up in some attic room, never allowed to see the sun, wasting away. But when you came in the room the other night…" He shook his head.

"They were very kind to me. The lock on my room was from the inside. It took me some time to realize that no one meant me any harm," answered Lizzie. She gazed at her dry bread and sausage without really seeing it.

"And what of…him?"

"Who?" Lizzie looked up, her reverie broken. "Oh, you mean Col...Mr. Whisper. The plantation owner. What about him?"

"Was he…kind to you as well?" Billy was looking at her very intensely.

"Yes, of course. We had our misunderstandings, but he has a good heart underneath it all."

"Surely you're joking with me, miss. He was the one who forced you to make that bargain to let your brother go free, wasn't he? How can you say he has a good heart, when he's capable of such a cruel deed?"

The question startled Lizzie. She hadn't thought of Colman in that way since…well, not for a long time. But seen from someone whose only impression was of a sadistic jailer, she could understand Billy's incredulity. "I thought he was cruel, at first," she said, "But once I came to know him I realized that he was merely lonely and misguided. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him when I saw what his life was really like."

"I'm sure it's quite difficult for him." Billy's voice now had the slight sting of sarcasm. "He has a huge house full of slaves at his beck and call. His entire plantation is untouched by the war."

"You don't understand." To her own surprise, Lizzie heard herself beginning to sound pleading.

"Explain it to me, then, 'cause I sure can't make head nor tail of the matter."

"I…" Lizzie stopped herself cold. To explain everything would entail revealing Colman's secret, which she could not bring herself to do. For one thing, she doubted that Billy would believe her. He lived in the real world, the world of muskets and cannons, where such things only occurred in bedtime tales. For another, some instinct warned that it might have dangerous ramifications for the plantation's other inhabitants if the wrong person learned the plantation's secret. Billy seemed trustworthy, but she barely knew him. And she had no idea whom he might tell if she let the secret slip. So she swallowed what she'd been about to say and instead said, "I can't explain."

"Why not?" Billy looked more than a little put out.

"I'm sorry. I can't." Lizzie looked away. "But believe me when I say he's not what you think."

Billy eyed her. "All right. I guess I'll just have to take your word for it." They were silent again for a long time. After a few minutes, Lizzie tilted her head to look at the broad sweep of stars. They were so bright and clear and perfect. It was hard to believe that there was any suffering in the world when she looked into that vast cloth spangled with dozens of diamonds.

"Do you love him?" Billy's unexpected words startled Lizzie so much, she had to stifle a yelp.

"What did you say?"

Billy sighed. "I asked, do you love him? Your plantation owner."

"What on earth would make you ask a girl you barely know such a forward question?" Lizzie kept her gaze fastened on the stars, attempting to remain casual.

"You seemed very familiar, from what I heard. He called you 'Lizzie' back there, not 'Miss Bellevue'. You seemed to think nothin' of speaking privately with him. And now you're very keen on defendin' someone I believe I'd hate passionately in your boots."

"That's supposed to be an indication of being in love?" Lizzie demanded indignantly.

"Why were you dressed like some Southern belle for a ball?"

"He was teaching me to dance." Even in the dark, Lizzie flushed. She hoped Billy couldn't see it. Billy himself said nothing for a moment, but Lizzie got the impression that he felt as if he'd scored a point in the argument. She looked back at the stars, hoping he would not pursue it.

Then he spoke again, very low. "He loves you."

"What?" Lizzie sat bolt upright, almost choking on the word.

"I'm not blind; I saw the way he was lookin' at you. My sisters' swains used to look the same at them, afore they married and their husbands went off to war." It was impossible to see Billy's face in the dim firelight.

"You've gained quite a spine since I last saw you, Billy Samuels," Lizzie said, unconsciously borrowing Colman's most imperious manner. "I don't see how this is any of your business."

"All right, it isn't. But I saw how he feels about you, and I was only wonderin' if you felt the same for him."

"I don't. I think of him merely as a good friend," Lizzie said firmly, but her heart was in turmoil. Could Billy possibly be right? Was Colman in love with her? Then why had he released her from her promises to stay with him? He knew the danger she faced if she went back. Most men would go out of their way to shield a woman from any hint of trouble, especially if it was a woman he loved. Lizzie had always disliked this tendency, but even Robert, who knew her so well, had tried to protect her from Captain Redgrave by forcing her to promise to stay hedged in with the Daughters of the Regiment. But Colman…he was different. He had not tried to cage her when her heart led elsewhere. He had released her in spite of the danger, probably against his own instincts. She had not even had to beg. But what did that mean?

Lizzie was so confused by all of this that she hardly dared examine her own feelings for Colman. She did like him a great deal. The nightmare jailer had slowly metamorphosed into a thoughtful and caring young man, one that she was truthfully proud to know. He had come a long way in their months of acquaintance towards regaining the humanity he'd lost at some point during his life. In return, he had helped her heal some of her own wounds, ones that she had been loath to look at for fear of the pain they caused. In that, he had become a very dear friend indeed. She had never known anyone like him. But love?

She turned her face away from the fire and thrust her unsettling thoughts from her mind. She didn't need this now. In a few days, they would be arriving back at camp, and she would need every wit and nerve she possessed to face Captain Redgrave's vindictiveness. Once Robert was free, she could afford to think about other things again. Still, as she lay sleeping in her bedroll that night, the look on Colman's face when he told her to forget him and get on with her life was a constant sight in her troubled dreams_  
_

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_Author's Note: Sorry about the backtracking at the beginning of this chapter. I hope no one was too confused. I was intending for this chapter to go all the way back to the camp, but it turned out to be a characterization opportunity where Lizzie has the same direct question "Do you love him?" asked to her that Josiah gave to Colman earlier, but she backs off. Just as Belle does in the movie at this point, Lizzie has a bit more growing to do before the story can end._

_I was hoping that my Spring Break would mean that I would have more time to write this story, but as it turned out I've had less. So the updates will continue to be slow and steady. Hope you're all enjoying!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	18. In the Prison Cell

_Chapter 18  
_

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the story of Beauty and the Beast. None at all._

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The next morning Lizzie began to focus her energy on the upcoming confrontation at the camp, which helped her forget the vague feelings of unease from the previous night's conversation. She was never able to quite put it out of her mind, however, no matter how she tried. Colman's face continued to drift in and out of her dreams over the following nights of the journey. Billy, for his part, did not mention the subject of her imprisonment again. Whether he felt he'd stepped out of line or he'd sensed that it was an issue she'd rather not discuss Lizzie could not tell, but she was grateful for his silence on the matter. Instead, she passed some of the time pumping the younger man about the details of her brother's imprisonment. Unfortunately for her, he knew very little about it. Robert had kept his plans to himself, whatever they had been. The men in his unit had awoken one morning to find him gone; bedroll, gear and all. It was not until later that afternoon had they been called together and informed by a gleeful Redgrave of Robert's transgression.

"And let that be a lesson to all you boys who might be thinking you have other loyalties besides to your country and your superiors," Redgrave had said. Billy, whose voice had made the complete transition from boy's to man's since Lizzie had last seen him in the fall, could now do a dead-on impression of Redgrave's growling, blustering voice. It made Lizzie giggle, but it also sobered her to her purpose. Soon she would be facing the owner of that voice, in person, and she had no idea what would happen when she did. For some time afterwards she kept her thoughts to herself, turning over possible scenarios and responses she could make. More and more she began to realize how hopeless her situation was, but she could not turn coward and back down now. Certainly not after leaving Colman the way she had.

She passed the rest of the time by asking for more general details of the war and the outside world that she'd been missing, which Billy was much happier to discuss. The South was completely demoralized, he reported, thanks in part to General Sherman and his strategy. Rumors had spread that the day of their capitulation was drawing very near. Lizzie wondered if she might be able to hold off her brother's trial until after the surrender, when he might be discharged before ever facing trial. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.

Lizzie's stomach clenched as she caught her first glimpse of the camp over the next hill. They paused for a moment.

"Are you ready, Miss Bellevue? Likely we've already been seen by sentries," Billy said in her ear.

Lizzie swallowed down her nerves. "Yes. Let's keep moving."

"Then good fortune to you, miss. I may not get another chance to speak with you for awhile, so good fortune be yours. May you succeed in getting Robert released, for all our sakes. And be careful."

"I will. Thank you for everything, Billy."

"Couldn't do anything less, miss." He spurred the horse forward.

They rode into camp at a slow trot. At first, approximately half the people they passed did not give them a second glace. The other half, however, especially the women, stopped and stared at Lizzie with their mouths wide open. Then they would immediately begin to whisper to whoever was closest, be it solider, doctor, or cook. The result of this was that by the time Lizzie and Billy reached the hastily-constructed wooden headquarters where Robert was being held a small crowd had gathered to watch and trade gossip. Lizzie did her best to ignore them all. As soon as they had come to a stop, she slid to the ground and ran inside, giving Billy one last smile for his help. He tipped his cap to her. Then she was inside the little two-room building.

The front room where she first entered was deserted, although there was a desk covered with shuffled paper, quill pens, an inkwell or two. Also there were a bottle of wine, an empty glass, and a lit candle that cast an eerie glow on everything. An entryway without a door led to the back room, where Lizzie heard the slight clank of chains.

"Robert?" she whispered, keeping her voice low. The building was nothing but thin wood, and she knew anything loud would carry straight through the boards to the listeners outside.

There was another clank, louder. "Lizzie?" a voice croaked.

It was all she could do not to scream at the weakness in the voice. Slowly, she forced herself to walk forward and enter the dim back room. In one corner was a man-shaped shadow, distorted by the outlines of heavy iron chains. "Oh, my brother. What has he done to you?" she said.

A head rose from the shadow's outline. "Lizzie, Lizzie, I'm so sorry," the choked voice mumbled. "I should never have left you, and now I'll never see you again to tell you how sorry I am…" He trailed off into weak coughs.

Lizzie knelt on the hard ground, taking her brother's unshaven chin in her cupped hands. He was so thin she could feel the bones of his face sharply against her palms. "Robert, it really is me. You're not well, but I'm here now. I'll make this right."

"Lizzie…" he shuffled forward on his knees, as much as he was able with the chains that bound his ankles and wrists, and threw his iron-clad arms around her. He was hot, too hot. If she had to guess, she would bet that Redgrave hadn't bothered to take any care of his prisoner. Now Robert was feverish and delirious from lack of nourishment. At this rate, he would likely not last another few days. Redgrave must plan to have the execution any day now, or he would no longer have a prisoner to execute.

"God, give me strength," she prayed into her brother's filthy hair.

Miraculously, this seemed to wake Robert slightly from his fever dream. He drew back so that he could look her in the face, his dull eyes clearing somewhat. "Lizzie? How did you get here? I was coming to fetch you when…"

"You got caught by our dear friend Captain Redgrave," Lizzie finished for him. "Robert, you should never have done it. It was a foolish, reckless thing to do."

"I had to. I promised you I'd return."

"Then why not wait until the war was over and you were discharged? The rumor is the South is nearly ready to crack open like a ripe hazelnut," Lizzie said gently.

"I heard that one. But I also heard that we would be moving out soon. Who knows where we'd be by the time the war was actually over? I knew I had to act or risk losing you forever." He paused, and his eyebrows quirked together. "How did you know to come? And how did you escape from the plantation and that terrible man who owned it?"

Lizzie winced at this reference to Colman. "Billy Samuels came to fetch me."

"And he helped you escape? Good lad, Billy." Robert smiled a little.

"No. I didn't need to escape at all. Col—the plantation owner. He let me go on his own," Lizzie explained. She hesitated, then added, "He said you needed me more."

"Really?" Robert looked at her skeptically. "Just like that, after all he put us through?"

"It's true! He's…different…than when you met him. He's been very kind to me, these past months."

"I see." It was clear Robert didn't believe her, but was too weak to argue the point. Again, Lizzie felt strongly the sense of unease that had plagued her since leaving Colman, as if something were hovering just out of the reach of her mind, but she shoved it away forcefully.

"Tell me, Robert. When is your trial? It may not be too late to…" she trailed off as her brother shook his head.

"I've already been tried, Lizzie. Last week. Sentenced to hang in two days' time for insubordination."

Lizzie sucked in her breath. "No! Oh, no! Can't you appeal it? Go to someone higher than Redgrave and explain?"

"I can't. I was going to, but the scoundrel's done his work well. He hasn't given me anything to eat or drink in…" he eyes glazed for a moment as he tried to count the days. "…I can't remember. It's been a long time. I'm far too weak now to stand, let alone present any sort of case to anyone. My last chance would have been tomorrow, the day before the execution, but I'll be even worse off then than I am now. I'll be lucky if I can see straight by then."

"I'll do it for you, then. I'll go to General Sherman himself if I have to—"

"I'd still be called on to defend my actions, which in this state I'm unfit to do. It would come down to our word against Redgrave's. We'd lose." Robert turned his head away, his whole body wobbling dangerously as he strained to stay conscious.

"Robert, stop talking like that. What'd Ma say if she heard her son givin' up so easy?" In her distress she tried to imitate their mother's rough, uneducated accent, hoping to move him past his despair, but he kept his eyes down.

"Well, I won't give up. I refuse to." She caught her brother as he fell forward into her arms, her muscles burning as she took his weight. Gently she leaned him backwards until he was lying flat on the ground, the most comfortable position she could manage around his chains. Standing carefully, she brushed the mud from her skirts, vowing as she did that she would kill Captain Redgrave for putting her brother in this state.

As if her thoughts had called to him, when she turned around there he was, leaning against the makeshift doorway. He leered at her in the old way.

"Miss Bellevue. I'd heard you returned…unexpectedly. Let me be the first to welcome you back to camp."

Lizzie clenched her fists behind her back. "Sir, I won't pretend that I came back for a social visit. I came specifically to ask clemency for my poor brother. It's a disgrace, keeping your own country's soldiers in this condition. I doubt even the Reb prisoners of war are treated this shamefully. Does General Sherman know of this outrage?"

"Of course he does. He approved it," Redgrave snapped, but from the way his eyes flickered briefly to the side Lizzie was willing to bet that the general had done no such thing. She decided to call Redgrave's bluff.

"Then you won't mind if I pay him a brief visit to ask for his mercy on my only family," she said, making as if to walk by him through the door.

He barred her way. "I'm afraid the general is far too busy."

"I'll wait until he can see me."

"You won't see him before the day after tomorrow, I can guarantee."

Lizzie pulled up sharply to eye her nemesis. His leer widened cruelly. After a few moments, she said, looking him right in the face, "Why are you doing this?"

"Can't you guess, you silly girl?" His hand gestured towards his face. Seeing she didn't understand, he reached behind him and lifted the candle from the desk. His craggy cheek was thrown into sharp relief, and Lizzie could see three faint pale streaks beneath the dark whiskers: the marks from her nails, still there after all these months.

"What do you want me to do? Ask your pardon?" she snapped. "You deserved worse."

His eyes narrowed, and he lowered the candle. "I don't need your excuses. Women ask for pardon. Men take revenge."

"And you think taking an innocent life will satisfy your vengeance on me for your humiliation at the hands of a defenseless female?" Lizzie asked, taking a step back just in case he meant even now to grab her.

"You went out of my reach, slippery wench. It was clever of you, I admit, but I'm a patient man. All I had to do was wait for your brainless brother to step out of line once and I could have my revenge. It makes little difference whether it is on you or your brother so long as I have satisfaction from your family for my humiliation before my superiors and subordinates alike."

Lizzie staggered backwards, feeling as though she'd been struck. How could anyone be so callous? She swallowed and stood straight, knowing what she had to do. "Well, it appears as if I've returned in time to correct your mistake. Here I am. Do with me as you like, but I beg you for clemency in my brother's case. I will do whatever you ask, so long as you lift the death sentence."

"Whatever I ask, eh?" She could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, examining the possibilities.

"I said so, didn't I? I keep my word, as my brother would tell you were he in a fit state to speak," she growled. She knew full well what she'd just sentenced herself to, but she didn't want to think about it any more than necessary. She hoped Robert would forgive her.

"Very well." Redgrave grinned broadly. "Then, to start…"

She took another step backwards, and nearly hit the far wall. "Not so fast. I will do nothing that you say until my brother is officially pardoned of all crimes. When he is free, you may have your revenge on me however you like."

"All right, all right. I must admit, I do like a woman with a bit of spark in her. With a bit of taming, you'll do nicely. Come on." He beckoned her into the next room, where he bent over the desk. After a few seconds of rifling through the piles of loose paper, he extracted one, perused it, and then wet one of the quill pens and wrote something at the bottom. "Here, girl. Your brother's pardon, signed by me." He held out the paper to her. Lizzie read it carefully, parsing through the legalese to make certain there were no loopholes. Everything seemed to be in order, right down to Redgrave's added lines at the bottom pardoning Robert Bellevue of all he was accused and making him a free man. Still, she couldn't take chances, not with someone as double-crossing as Redgrave had proved.

"I want this examined by someone who can tell me whether or not it's genuine," she said.

Redgrave shook his head in irritation. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you? Don't you trust the word of someone of my rank?"

"No," Lizzie answered frankly.

"Does a wench like you trust anyone?"

"Of course I do. I trust my brother. I trusted my parents, when they were alive. I trust President Lincoln. And I trust…" she stopped herself with a hand over her mouth. What had possessed her to think of Colman at a moment like this?

"Trust who?"

Lizzie pressed her lips together and stuck her chin out. Redgrave growled. "May I remind you, girl, that I could easily tear up this piece of paper right now. Your offer isn't so tempting that I can't do without it." He dangled Robert's pardon before her between two fingers.

"I trust the owner of the plantation where I've been…staying…these past months," Lizzie said reluctantly, keeping her eyes fixed on the pardon.

"Plantation? How could there be any plantation left in our path still able to support itself?" asked Redgrave.

"The place is haunted," Lizzie said, hoping that if she was as vague as possible Redgrave would lose interest.

"Haunted? How intriguing. But ghosts should mean nothing to a true soldier. Do you mean to tell me our brave men were actually frightened off by such tales?"

"Not quite. But the one man who went in did not come out again. A bit of a frightening thing, even for raiders, isn't it?" Lizzie answered, trying a weak smile.

"Yet you say you've been staying there for the past few months."

"I bargained with the ghost and changed places with that man. The army needed him more than me."

Redgrave's eyes flicked to Robert's chained form, and Lizzie knew she'd said too much. She swore silently. "What about finding someone to verify that pardon?" she said aloud.

"Some other time. I have a fancy to visit this plantation and see what stores the army might collect for itself. The place only being guarded by a ghost, it should be ripe for the taking." He put the pardon on the desk and turned to leave the hut.

"You'll never find the plantation," Lizzie called after him, but he was already gone. She shook her head. Redgrave had no idea even which direction to start in. She might as well take advantage of his absence. Taking up the pardon, she went to find someone who could verify it, help her get her brother out of his chains, and find him some food and water—fast. Her bargain with Redgrave could wait a few minutes, until the captain realized his mistake and returned for her_.  
_

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_Author's Note: A thousand apologies for taking so long. It was really hard to get started on this chapter for some reason. I knew how I wanted it to end, but I had no idea how to get from Lizzie's arrival at the camp to that point. Here it is, at last. Hope the long wait was worth it! Also, fanfiction is being evil and not allowing me to post, so this is even later than it should be._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	19. A Hundred Circling Camps

_Chapter 19  
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_Disclaimer: Yikes! 19 of these things? There's only so many times I can acknowledge that I ripped a story and characters from Disney.  
_

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_"But there was one other person who knew exactly how to get to the Whisper Plantation," the girl said along with her father._

_He grinned at her fondly. "You've heard this story far too many times, my daughter. Every time I tell it, I think this will be the time you'll grow tired of it and ask to hear another story."_

_"Never. I promise I'll never get tired of it." She frowned as a new thought crossed her mind. "Do you get tired of telling it to me, Papa?"_

_"Never."_

Lizzie lost no time in finding another officer, who told her in a very confused voice that the pardon she held in her hands was genuine. Overjoyed, she asked him for keys to the prisoner's shackles. He informed her that only Captain Redgrave held them. Lizzie fumed as she went to find someone who could help her fetch food and water for her brother. Double-crossed by Redgrave again! Now she had to wait until he returned to the headquarters in order to make certain Robert went free. Never mind. She would insist that it be done before she began her life as…she didn't want to think about her life afterwards. She'd become Redgrave's slave in every way. She could almost envy Lilah and the others back at the plantation. At least now they would be better treated, if her presence had had any effect on their owner at all. And if they were lucky, Colman might actually free them before he was forced to by law when the war ended.

Colman. His face came back to her unbidden. She hadn't realized when she left how much she would truly miss him: his wicked smile, his easy laugh, his genuine eagerness to read and learn again after years of being unable to open a book. The way he looked at her with approval and liking in his dark violet-grey eyes, and not like a horse buyer appraising a mare as Redgrave did. Even when she and Billy had had that unnerving conversation about Colman, on her second night away, it hadn't really sunk in that she would never see him again.

"Forget me." he'd said. She still didn't want to, no matter how much it bothered her that she thought of him at the most inconvenient times.

"Excuse me!"

Lizzie looked up in time to keep from running headlong into someone. "I'm so terribly sorry!" she exclaimed, helping the woman to gather the potatoes she'd dropped.

"Think nothing of it, child." The older woman smiled and looked her over in a friendly way. "So you're back. You look well."

"Thank you." Lizzie recognized the woman who had helped her relax with that potion of herbs after Redgrave had caught her alone the first time. "Here, let me help you with those potatoes," she said, offering her own apron.

"Thank you kindly, dear, but there's no rush. A whole contingent of the men left just an hour ago, so there's much fewer mouths to feed this night."

A dreadful sinking feeling settled into Lizzie's stomach. "What? Who left?"

"Oh, Captain Redgrave took an entire company. Seems they got word of a place where they could get more supplies. I do hope so. One more night of these potatoes and…why, what's the matter? Are you all right? You've gone white as a sheet! Here, sit down, now." The woman tried to lead her over to a barrel.

"No!" Lizzie slid from her hold. "I don't need to sit down. I need to move fast. Quick, can you do something for me?"

"Anything, dear. Are you quite sure you're—"

"Yes, I'm fine. Please, my brother's a prisoner in Captain Redgrave's headquarters. He's ill and starved and needs some looking after immediately. Good water and hearty food to help him get his strength back. Can you send someone trustworthy to help him for the next few days?"

"You needn't fear, I'll do it myself. But what—"

"Thank you! I'll repay you someday for your kindness, if I can!" Lizzie was already sprinting away towards where she had smelled horses on the way into camp.

"Where are you going?" the woman called after her.

"Billy told him where to find the plantation. I have to warn them!"

Lizzie ran into the yard where the horses were kept like a whirlwind. The boys who cared for the horses and the officers inspecting their mounts stared at her. She charged up to one of the boys. "I need…" Inspiration struck. "I need Captain Redgrave's spare mount." She brandished her brother's pardon, which she still clutched, hoping it would give her request credibility.

It worked. The boy went to get the horse ready without more than a cursory glance at the paper for Redgrave's signature. Lizzie stood in the yard by herself, wringing her hands, silently begging the boy to hurry and knowing he was doing his best. It seemed an age before the horse was brought. When it was, she leapt onto it and galloped away without so much as another word, leaving everyone in the yard staring after her.

She had never ridden so hard, for so long. Already tired from the journey to camp, the hours after she left blurred into hazy images of forest and meadows going by far more slowly than she would have liked. She had meant to ride another hour after dark in order to catch up on the time lost, but when darkness fell she realized that there was no way she could find the trail left by the army without light. She tied the horse to a tree, curled up under some leaves, and fell asleep instantly.

She awoke feeling dreadfully stiff and was horrified when she saw the position of the sun. The army would have been on the road already for at least an hour. She was now two hours behind!

"God help me," she murmured as she mounted. She rode all day, at a slightly slower pace to preserve energy. She stopped when she knew the army would stop, slept, and woke with the dawn. Another two days went like this. She neither gained nor lost any time, and her desperation grew. Who knew what damage the army could do in two hours? And though she was very worried for the slaves, who she knew would fight back for all they were worth and were no match for Redgrave's forces, she found herself most frightened for Colman. He would nearly go out of his mind with the helplessness of being unable to defend his home. His face wavered back and forth before her exhausted eyes like a mirage.

A tremendous thump that jarred every bone in her body hit her, and pain raced all over her left shoulder. Lizzie sat up with a wince and a muffled curse. She'd fallen asleep in the saddle and tumbled from her horse. The animal stood a few paces away, looking at her with a dumbfounded expression in its large eyes.

"I'm sorry," Lizzie said aloud to soothe it, "I'm not angry with _you._" The horse snorted and shook its head, making its bridle jangle urgently. "All right, I'm coming. I know we can't spare the time for me to sit in the dirt and curse my own stupidity." She stood shakily and remounted, noticing with dismay that her left shoulder, which was slightly bloody, now barely took the weight. It throbbed as she took up the reins, and she fought down a cry of pain. She kicked the patient horse into a fast canter, guiding it one-handed while she cradled her left arm close to her torso and tried to ignore the jostling. With any luck they'd reach the plantation before dark.

Lizzie smelled smoke long before she saw her destination. In a panic, she nudged her tired horse into a gallop, tears flying behind her in the wind. They crested the top of the final hill, and Lizzie gasped at the sight before her.

The company that Redgrave had brought with him were all camped within the plantation's gates. It appeared as if they were all preparing to bed down for the night. The smoke she'd smelled was from their campfires. She couldn't see the main house or any of the outbuildings from her position, but there were no thicker patches of smoke to indicate that more than campfires were burning.

But now what? It was doubtful she'd be able to get anywhere near the plantation grounds without being seen and taken straight to Captain Redgrave, who would no doubt have her locked away somewhere safe so that she couldn't interfere with whatever he planned. In fact, if she didn't decide on some course of action quickly, that would likely be her fate anyway. She rapidly dismounted and led her horse into a small nearby stand of trees, the same where Billy had once waited for her to come out of the plantation and instead had met Robert. There, she tied the poor exhausted animal to a tree where it would have plenty of leaves to nibble, threw her cloak over its back as a blanket, and sat down to think.

She needed to get inside the plantation house. The main gate was likely barred, and besides that was guarded by an entire company of the Union army. Lizzie didn't like thinking of them as her enemies, but for someone in her position they were certainly a considerable hindrance. Was there a back way into the plantation? Lizzie had never ventured that far into the plantation's outlying fields, but she reasoned that such a vast estate must have more than one entrance into it, especially if any slaves had tried escapes over the years. She would just make her way around the hedge until she found a way in. Using the tree and her right arm, she pulled herself to her feet and started off.

The first stars had come out before she found what she was looking for: a slight gap in the hedge, clearly once well-used but now quite overgrown. Forcing her way through the hedge was not an easy thing, as it clutched at her clothes and hair as if trying to keep her out. The fabric of her dress, which was more delicate than that of her old everyday work dress that had been ruined months ago, did not hold up against the braches' scrape, and Lizzie looked with dismay at the small tears in her skirt and sleeves as well as the blood staining her left sleeve. Her hair was now so wildly tangled that it cascaded like a reddish bird's nest down her back. Running her fingers through it several times helped order it a little so that she did not appear completely like a crazy woman, but Lizzie knew that she had looked worse than this only once in her life: her last return to the plantation.

She looked around. In the distance to her left she could see the small pinpoints of light that marked out where Redgrave's men were camping along the carriage road. Closer at hand but still quite far was the towering white bulk of the main house. She was slightly behind and to the left side, which suited her purposes nicely. Wearily, moving slowly so that it would be harder to see her against the dark landscape, Lizzie made her way towards it.

She reached the kitchen door of the house with little problem. There were no sentries guarding this side. She peered cautiously through the window into the kitchen itself. Gathered there in the large room, guarded by two men in Union blue, were every slave who worked in the house, including old Lilah and her son John. Lizzie slid down the wall to huddle beneath the window and breathed a sigh of relief. The slaves were all safe and unhurt. Clearly Redgrave did not consider them much of a threat, or he wouldn't have placed only two men to guard over a group of nearly thirty people.

Voices sounded from inside. Lizzie brought her head back near the window to better hear what was being said.

Even muffled, she knew Lilah's voice. "I's on'y gonna use the necessary," she was saying in a properly humble voice. "An' I'll fetch yeh two fine Yanks some water on mah way back."

Male voices grumbled in assent. A few moments later, the kitchen door banged open and there was Lilah. She carefully shut the door behind her, then threw herself at Lizzie and hugged her hard.

"Miz Lizzie, yeh done come back. I'm so happy tuh see yeh here now," she whispered fiercely.

"Oh, Lilah, I'm so sorry I brought this on all of you," Lizzie whispered, returning the hug.

"What're yeh talkin' 'bout, miss?"

"I told Captain Redgrave about this place by accident, and the boy who came to fetch me home for my brother told him how to get here. But you can all blame me later. What's going on? What's been happening?"

"Nothin' much, really, miss. Dem Yanks arrived, mebbe two hours ago. The slaves who work th'fields were all taken tuh their houses an' are bein' held there. We house 'uns are in the kitchen, like yeh saw." She smiled her old wicked grin. "Yer Captain canna find the Massah. It's made'im madder than an ol' hornet wiv his nest disturbed."

"Then Colman's somewhere in the house?"

"We tink he's hid himself in that little trapdoor room yeh tol' him uv before yeh left. He been down dere a lot."

Lizzie felt a stab of fresh guilt when she remembered what that room contained, but she brushed it aside. "Do you think you and John and the rest can overcome your two guards, quietly?"

"We been plannin' on it, miss. Donchoo worry. Now I gotta go get dem Yanks their water afore they come lookin' fer me. Wait right here, an' don't move." The older woman vanished into the darkness, and returned a short time later with two old wooden cups of water from the well. As she reached Lizzie, she reached into her dress and pulled out a small packet of herbs, which she added to the cups.

She winked when she saw Lizzie's stare. "Always keep a pinch or two uv useful tings here or dere," she whispered. "Now, wait until one uv us comes tuh fetch yeh. Won' be too long. Den I kin take care of dat arm uv yers." She went back into the house. Lizzie listened at the window, but all was silent. She didn't even hear the men when they hit the floor, and she thought with satisfaction that the slaves had even planned for that. Soon John appeared at the kitchen door with a huge smile on his dark face.

"Welcome back, miss," he said. "We bin missin' yeh."

The scene in the kitchen, when she entered it, was a very organized one. The two Union soldiers lay side by side on the big table normally used for chopping vegetables. They were both fast asleep, their noses pinched with clothespins to keep them from snoring. A few of the house slaves were engaged in tying them up with pieces of hemp cord. The rest were silently gathering anything that could be used as a weapon.

"Surely you don't plan to fight all those soldiers out there with kitchen knives and canes," Lizzie said in surprise as Lilah came to tend her shoulder with a homemade healing concoction.

"O'course not. We aint' fools," said John softly as he took up his own weapon, a butcher knife, "But we ready to defend our home if need be. We on'y fight if dey try to come in the house."

Lizzie nodded reluctantly. While she didn't like their odds, neither had she expected that the slaves would simply lie down and let anyone take over their home.

"I don't think anyone will try to come in, at least for the next few hours. They're pretty well bedded down for the night, from what I saw. The only trouble could come when the watches change, but you shouldn't have any trouble taking the replacements out without rousing the camp. The main problem is if Redgrave finds out what you've done," Lizzie pointed out. She looked around at all the determined faces. "You should see if you can catch him, _quietly_. It will buy you a few hours, at least, if not bring this whole mess to an easy end."

"We kin use the commander as a bargainin' chip," said Josiah, the old banjo player.

"That's what I was thinking," answered Lizzie. "I doubt he'll take kindly to that, but it's the least he deserves."

The slaves began to slip, two by two, out of the room, weapons at the ready. "Miss?" Lilah said as she was preparing to leave with her son. "What're you gonna do?"

Lizzie squared her shoulders. "I'm going to find Colman._  
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_Author's Note: Again, a million apologies for the lateness of this. Fanfiction was still being incredibly evil and not allowing me to post at the time of completion, so finished chapters are now backing up. We are slowly winding down towards the finale, so stay tuned!_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	20. Last Fierce Charge

_Chapter 20  
_

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing that might be claimed by Disney's copyright on Beauty and the Beast._

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Lizzie walked through the darkened halls by feel rather than sight. She hadn't realized how much of the house she knew until she was forced to navigate by feel alone; she knew exactly where to step aside to avoid tables containing knickknacks and photo frames. Her footsteps weren't quite noiseless, but the removal of her old boots helped her glide even across polished wood floors. She met no one as she made her way towards her destination, though she kept alert for any sound. The slaves, she knew, would be guarding the entrances to the house and would not be near where she was going. The only people she would likely meet at this end of the house were Colman or Redgrave, and Colman would make no noise. However, she saw and heard no one during the nerve-wracking walk except her own breathing and soft footfalls on the floor.

When she reached the end of the last corridor, she bent and began feeling around for the handle of the trapdoor. Her fingers touched the metal ring, clutched it, and heaved. The crash of the door sounded like an earthquake to her ears. She listened for several tense seconds, but there was no movement in any of the adjacent rooms or down the corridor.

She looked down. The open trapdoor gaped like a yawning pit, blacker than any of the surrounding darkness to which her eyes had become somewhat accustomed. Dread clutched at her heart. Nothing could induce her to take one more motion towards that black hole in the floor.

"C-Colman?" she stuttered.

Silence met her straining ears. Just as she was about to let out her breath, something moved in the darkness below. "Colman? Are you there?" Her voice sounded, even to her own ears, like a five-year-old child pleading for comfort.

Another flicker of motion. Then a horse voice came whispering back. "Lizzie?"

"Colman?"

"Lizzie!" It was definitely Colman's voice. "Is it really you, and not just some figment of my imagination come to torment me?"

Lizzie didn't need any more prompting. She slid her stocking feet into the trapdoor, found the ladder, and climbed down it as fast as safely possible to do by feel. When her feet hit the floor she spun to face the room, which was just as black as it had looked from above. She held her ground against the urge to scramble back upwards. "It's me, I promise you."

"But how? And what about your brother?"

"He's taken care of, for the moment. But I came back, to warn you about—"

A flicker of lamplight above them made her freeze in midsentence. Before she knew what was happening, someone was holding a lit lantern down into the cellar. Her eyes burned and watered in protest at the unaccustomed light, and she staggered back a few paces involuntarily as shielded her face with one hand. She heard a heavy thump not too far from her. The dirt floor shuddered a little, and the light around her grew even stronger. Lizzie backed up even more to put as much distance between her and whatever had just leapt into the cellar.

Her eyesight came back slowly. The first thing she saw was Colman: a tall, dark silhouette against the light coming from near the ladder. From what she could determine, he stood a few paces in front of her and slightly to the left of the light source. She glanced down and suppressed a slight shudder at something she'd never noticed before: though solid-looking, he cast no shadow. Pity stabbed through her again at the thought of his helplessness, her own danger momentarily forgotten. It reminded her soon enough with the almost click of a gun being cocked. Squinting towards the light, she could make out a large shape behind it, aiming a long-barreled rifle right at Colman.

"Well, well. Look what we have here," said an all-too familiar growling voice. Lizzie's heart sank, and she backed up even more.

To his credit, Colman did an admirable job in pretending to be frightened at having a gun pointed at his chest. He slowly raised both hands over his head and backed towards Lizzie. When they were side-by-side, he shot her a brief look. In his dark eyes, Lizzie saw why his acting job was so believable: he was truly afraid. Not for himself; he had to know he was in no danger. Her heart sank deeper as she realized the truth: in coming to find him, all she'd done was place herself in mortal danger. He feared to helplessly watch her die. But, strangely, the thought lifted her heart higher than any fear she might feel. Knowing that Colman cared for her in such a way…it meant more than anything he could have said. She knew then, too, that what Billy had told her was true: Colman loved her. But what did she feel for him? She couldn't sort her thoughts out, not with Captain Redgrave standing before them both with a gun in his hands.

"What a surprise," he was saying with his customary sneer, "This is the last place I would have expected to see you, Lizzie Bellevue. I would have thought you'd be back at the camp, caring for your poor brother. Didn't think you'd be so eager to see me that you'd abandon him and follow us all the way out to this Godforsaken place."

Lizzie's anger, forgotten for a time, flared white hot. There were so many things she wanted to say that they all nearly choked her. All she could manage were ragged gasps.

Colman was not so hindered. "How _dare_ you speak to her in such a way?" he snarled. He took a step forward, but restrained himself from any more. His fists clenched.

"I'll speak to her in any way I want," Redgrave snapped. "She's bound herself to me. It was part of our agreement to free her brother."

"Lizzie!" Colman rounded on her. "Is this true?"

She couldn't look at him. Tears streamed down her face. "It's true." Something made her add, "Forgive me."

When she dared to look up, he was directly in front of her, his tall frame blocking her sight of both Redgrave and the gun. He leaned close so that only she could hear. "There's nothing to forgive." A small smile quirked his lips, a shadow of his usual. "And while I am disappointed, I can hardly say that I'm surprised. I knew you'd do anything in your power to free your brother. And I know you. You'll find a way to live around it. After all, you survived your time here. With me."

Just like that, everything clicked into place. Even here, he was joking about something deadly serious to them both. And, though he hadn't said it, he was willingly letting her go to her make her own choices. Just as he'd done before. Only now, she knew why. And she loved him for it.

A strange ripple, like a heat-wave over a grassy field on a hot summer's day, passed through the air in front of her. Lizzie blinked. She was looking at Redgrave's gun barrel through where Colman had been moments before.

"What—" she started to say.

She heard a muffled curse from Redgrave, and then a deafening roar. Something, a hand, seized her from behind and flung her violently to the ground. Her vision spun and she saw sparkling lights flash before her eyes as she was forced to catch herself with her bad arm. She thought for a moment that she had screamed with the pain, but if she had it was drowned out by the cry from behind her.

With great difficulty, Lizzie turned on her knees, clutching her left shoulder through its rough dressing. What she saw astonished her already dazzled brain: Colman staggering to his feet with one hand pressed to his bleeding side. She thought, confusedly: _But he _can't_ bleed…_ before her mind caught up and sorted out pieces of the last few seconds. Redgrave had fired his gun; she guessed at Colman's abrupt disappearance. The hand that had pushed her out of the path of the bullet had to have been Colman's, though how he had the solidity to do so and how he had ended up behind her she could not begin to guess. In using his new substantiality to push her out of the way, he had taken the bullet instead. Now, despite the wound, he was charging Redgrave, who dropped his now-useless rifle with a curse and drew his revolver.

Lizzie saw what was about to happen long before it actually occurred. She was already up and running as Redgrave cocked the revolver and fired. This shot took Colman in the shoulder and sent him staggering backwards. He did not cry out, and he somehow stayed on his feet with his thunderstorm eyes still flashing murderous lightning at Redgrave.

As the captain cocked the revolver for another shot that would finish off his rival for good, Lizzie reached him. Stooping, she seized the forgotten rifle from the floor, holding it reversed so that the barrel was in her hands. The metal, hot from its first shot, burned a little, but she ignored the pain as she raised the weapon and brought it down.

Redgrave did not even have time to look at her, or to realize what she'd done, until the polished wooden butt of his own rifle clubbed him in the side of the head with all the force Lizzie could muster. He dropped like a stone. Lizzie stood still for a moment, panting, wondering if she'd killed him. If she had, it was the least of her worries. She dropped the rifle and turned to Colman.

He stood there, staring at her, blood running from his side and shoulder. He managed a smile. "Good work. Knew…I could count on you." Then his knees buckled.

Lizzie caught him before he hit the ground, reflecting on how strange it was to actually feel him where her eyes told her he should be. He was also heavier than she expected. She was forced to sink the ground with him, gently laying him on his back while she knelt beside him. His blood stained her skirts. She used a bit to wipe the sweat and blood flecks from his face.

His smile was now closer to a grimace. "Thanks."

"You saved me. Thank you. And I'm so sorry." She felt the burning in her eyes that meant tears were not far away.

"For what?"

"For all of this."

"You had to save your brother. We both knew it was the right…thing to do." His face creased as he let out a hiss of pain.

"No, not that!" She shook her head. "For this. If I hadn't come back, if I hadn't been here when he found you, you wouldn't have had to drag me out of the way of that bullet…."

"No, Lizzie. You don't understand. This," he reached up to take her dirty hand with his blood-stained one, "is more than I ever dreamed of. Being able to hold your hand, even for another few minutes, is worth any price I would have had to pay."

"Not any price! Not…not _this_ price. I can't bear to think…" she trailed off as he shook his head.

"Listen. There's something I never told you…about my curse." His face contorted with pain again, and then relaxed. His voice grew softer, with more pauses between words. "There was a way…to break it. I had to…to learn to truly love someone, and get her to fall in love with me as well, despite all the hindrances the curse created. I…realized I was in love with you…just before you left to help your brother."

"I know. I realized it just now, when Redgrave had that gun pointed at us."

"Then…you know…what finally broke the curse and allowed me to…save you."

"Yes. I do." She choked back a sob. "Don't leave me now! Not now that we're together again."

"I wish…I could stay." His eyes dimmed, but he still smiled at her in his old way. "But if I could have chosen…my death, I would have wanted to die…this way. Holding your hand…for real, not pretending…and knowing that you love me." She felt him weakly squeeze her hand. "I would rather…have that now…than live another hundred years…the way…I…was."

"But—"

"Hush. Do you…want our last…conversation…to be…an argument?"

"Anything but that!" She smiled in spite of herself.

"That's…what I want…to see. Your…smile." He closed his eyes before her smile could fade. His hand's grip relaxed in hers.

It was so like, and yet so horribly unlike, the moment when her mother had died. Her mother, too, had gone so still that she seemed only to be a wax form where a woman had once been. But her mother, in fact both of her parents, had died peacefully in bed. Neither had been covered in blood. Lizzie looked at her hands, where were also bathed in rapidly-drying blood. Then, forgetting everything else but her sorrow at losing the man she'd only just realized how much she cared for, she put both of her filthy hands to her face and sobbed_.  
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_Author's Note: Don't hate me, please! You know me by now. Have I ever let you down?_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	21. The Jubilee Day

_Chapter 21  
_

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for various Beauty and the Beast apparel and paraphernalia, plus my much-battered first-release VHS copy of the movie._

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Lizzie bowed her head. Hands still covering her face, she tried to pray, as she had prayed for her parents' souls. The words wouldn't come. She only hoped God and his angels, and Colman, would know everything she wanted to say but could not.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. She leapt back with a scream. "Don't touch me, or so help me God I'll…" she trailed off. The person that the hand belonged to was not Captain Redgrave. He still lay sprawled by the ladder. A woman in white stood by Colman's still form, one hand outstretched towards her.

Slowly, Lizzie rose. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were…someone else."

"I know." The stranger's voice was soft and rich, like the tones of a lone fife Lizzie had once enjoyed hearing in the camp at night.

She didn't seem inclined to speak further, however, so after a moment Lizzie asked, tentatively, "Excuse the question, but who are you? And how did you get here?"

Instead of answering, the woman knelt gracefully beside Colman's body. She regarded it for a long moment. Then, so softly Lizzie almost missed it, she said, "You really love her, don't you?"

A tremor ran through Lizzie at the way this stranger seemed to be speaking to Colman as if he could answer. Nothing happened that she could hear, but the woman turned to her next. "Your name is Elizabeth Bellevue, isn't it?"

"Yes. How do you know that?" Lizzie asked, startled. She hadn't heard her full name in months.

Again, her question was ignored. "Sit here beside me, and tell me how this came about."

In any other circumstance, Lizzie would have flared up. But now, worn out with grief and exhaustion, there seemed to be no other option but to do as she had been told. Lizzie sat in the dirt beside the woman. She started at the beginning, with her first meeting with Captain Redgrave months earlier, and told as much as she could remember up through the details of the fight. The woman listened silently, occasionally curling a lock of blond hair over a finger. At last, when Lizzie had told the whole, the woman said, "I feel I owe you some explanation." She paused, thinking, and then said, "Let me tell you a story. Once there was a young man. He had lost his parents long before they could teach him what he needed to know of the important things in life: courage, generosity, kindness, love. One night he turned a wretched beggar from his house during a thunderstorm, not because the beggar had harmed him but because she had intruded on what he considered was rightfully his. She felt that she had to teach him a lesson."

"You're talking about Colman." Lizzie said. The thought had leapt from her mouth quite unexpectedly. It was followed by another: "It was _you_ who cursed him!"

"Yes, it was I. I felt it was the least I could do. And he has learned, quite well, thanks to you and your own courage."

"I hardly did anything. The goodness was inside him all along." Fresh tears trailed down Lizzie's cheeks at the thought of Colman, lost forever.

"And do you truly love him?"

Lizzie thought for a long moment. In her mind, she saw images of Colman, relieved every emotion she'd ever felt with him. Hatred, rage, fear, frustration, surprise, amusement, admiration, affection, and dozens more. They all formed a pieces of a picture of Colman, of everything he'd once been and had since become in his time with her. And when she saw the completed picture, all she knew was that it made her smile with a joy she'd never felt with anyone else.

"Yes," she said.

The corners of the woman's mouth twitched ever so slightly into what might have been a smile of her own. "Then I can undo some of the wrong that has been done tonight. I owe my son that much."

"Your son—" Lizzie started to gasp, but the woman shook her head to silence her.

"Take his hand. I cannot do this without your contact." Lizzie obeyed, reaching out to take Colman's hand in both of hers. The room seemed to grow darker around them until all the lamplight had been extinguished. Lizzie had the quick fancy that they might have been taken out into the vast blackness of space and she might not know it now. All she could see were her own hands and the two people in front of her. The woman put out her own hand and touched Colman's forehead with one finger. When she drew the finger away, the glowing oval of its shape remained there like a brilliant white brand.

Lizzie gasped. Her own hands were glowing with that same white light. The glow pulsed once, bright enough to make her look away briefly. When she looked back, the glow had moved from her hands to Colman's shattered side and shoulder. The woman reached down and with deft fingers pinched the torn flesh together. Wherever she touched, the skin melted into itself until it appeared as if the wound had never been.

The woman turned to Lizzie. "It needs only your tears to seal it." She wiped a thumb under both of Lizzie's eyes, gathering a few drops from each before rubbing them over the newly-healed wounds.

A soundless explosion shuddered the air around her, but Lizzie clutched at Colman's hand and would not let go. She squeezed her eyes shut. Briefly, she thought she smelled the fresh scent of wild roses.

And there was stillness. Cautiously, Lizzie opened first one eye and then the other. The woman in white had vanished. The lamp was back, burning bravely by the ladder and illuminating Redgrave's dark form sprawled nearby. A strange noise came from beside her, almost a moan. Lizzie looked down in time to see Colman take a breath.

She screamed, dropping his hand and staggering away. Her own skirts tripped her and she fell hard on her backside. She watched in speechless wonder as Colman took two breaths more. His face creased.

Slowly, his eyes opened as if it were an effort to drag him back to the land of the living. Wincing, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Then he turned and looked at her.

"How…how do you feel?" Lizzie asked tentatively. It was all she could think of to say.

"I feel…" His hands moved, exploring his shoulder and side. Through his fingers and the tattered remains of his shirt Lizzie could see dark reddish-purple bruising, as if a wound had recently healed. "I feel better than I expected to, considering the circumstances," he finally said after a few stunned moments. He sounded as tired and battered as she felt.

"You…you're not…" She couldn't say it.

He shook his head. "I think I should be, but I'm not, thanks to you. Here." He held out a hand that was still dark with his own dried blood. Slowly, she scooted forward on her knees and put out a trembling hand to meet his. Her fingertips touched his palm, where she had been half-expecting to feel nothing. Instead, she touched warm flesh that curled solid fingers around her hand and clasped it tight. They stared at their gripped hands, which were squeezing so hard Lizzie's bones ached.

Without warning, he reached out with his other hand and pinched the soft flesh just above her wrist.

"Ouch!" She drew back, looking at the forming red mark. "What was that for?"

"You don't know how long I've waited to do that." He grinned. "Is it proof enough for you that I'm not a ghost any longer?"

"Not quite." Swiftly, she reached out and pinched his good shoulder. It too, was solid under her fingers. "Now I believe it. I think."

He glared at her. "Will this prove it to you?"

Before she knew what was happening, he had leaned forward and kissed her. Not on the mouth, just a gentle brush on the cheek. Lizzie said nothing as he kissed her other cheek in the same way. But when he started to pull back, she reached forward, put both hands behind his head, and drew them together. She hesitated, for just a second, and then put her lips to his. The first kiss was tentative, the second gentle. By the third, they clung together as if afraid the other would disappear if they parted even for a second.

It might have been minutes later when they parted, but it felt as if years had gone by. They looked at each other for a long moment, smiling. Then Colman's eyes shifted to her bandaged shoulder.

"You're hurt!"

"How kind of you to notice."

His face darkened, and he glanced over at Redgrave's body. "Did he…"

"No." Lizzie shook her head. "I fell off my horse on the way here to warn you about him. I'm only grateful I didn't snap my neck. And Lilah dressed it for me, so it should heal."

"I trust her with that." He tried to stand, and fell back with a groan. Lizzie helped him up using her good arm, but in the end they were both leaning on each other to stay upright. Together, they stumbled forward the few steps to where Redgrave lay. Colman disentangled himself from Lizzie and knelt down to check the older man.

"Did I kill him?" asked Lizzie nervously.

"I don't think he's dead," Colman answered, his ear close to Redgrave's mouth. "But I'm no physician. It's anyone's guess when, if ever, he'll wake. We should get some good rope and bind him, just in case."

"That leaves how we're going to get out," Lizzie observed. Both of them looked at the steep ladder leading up to the rest of the house. Neither one of them relished the thought of trying to climb it when they could barely stand without support.

"We'll manage if we work together. Compared to everything else that's happened tonight, this small matter should be the least of our worries." Colman grinned at her, and she smiled back.

In the end, it did take both of them to ascend the ladder. Colman went first, with Lizzie guiding his feet from behind. Once he was about halfway, he turned and helped her up behind him. Using this technique they eventually made it out of the cellar, but they were both shaking even more when they finally emerged.

It didn't take them long to run into one of the pairs of slaves patrolling the halls in the search for Redgrave. The man and woman, a younger couple who Lizzie happened to know had recently been married, looked shocked to see Lizzie and Colman standing there leaning on each other. It took Lizzie's exhausted brain a few seconds to remember why: of course they had no way of knowing that Colman was no longer insubstantial. At last, the woman seemed to shake off her paralysis. She ran—in the opposite direction. Lizzie was momentarily startled, but when the woman returned with Lilah and John, Lizzie understood.

It took Lilah mere seconds to appraise the situation. "Here, you lot, whatch'all doin' standin' here like lumps? These two need bed and food right now!" She directed John in taking charge of Colman, got the younger man to fetch a few others to deal with Redgrave, and then came to help with Lizzie.

"Expli'nation later," she said when Lizzie opened her mouth. "I kin see this un'll take some time."

Lizzie was too tired to answer. As the little group made its way slowly through the halls of the house, she did note that a very little amount of daylight was filtering through the curtained windows. It was nearing dawn.

Just as they reached the foot of the front stairs, an enormous wave of sound rolled over them. It sounded like hundreds of voices all shouting together from the Union camp outside. There were even a few cracks of gunfire. At a nod from Colman, the group made its way to the closest window and peered out. Lizzie's mouth fell open at what she saw_  
_

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_Author's Note: Better? I write Beauty and the Beast, and woe to any who kill the Beast and let Belle end up with Gaston. At least from my point of view. I know there are still more questions to be answered, but they should all be satisfied by the end, which is coming up in the next chapter or so. Let me know if you think I missed something, and I will try to fix it before the end. I will do formal acknowledgments and so on then too. I really hope you're enjoying this story. Thanks so much for the great reviews thus far!_

_I have updated the names of the chapters so that each one is either a song title or a bit of lyrics from a Civil War song. Some of them you might recognize, such as "Dixie Land," "Battle Hymn of the Republic," and "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again," and some you might not know. I will list all the songs I used at the end of the story as formal acknowledgement so that the copyright people don't eat me alive._

_SamoaPhoenix9_


	22. Glory Hallelujah

_Chapter 22  
_

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_Disclaimer: I think by this point most of this story belongs to me, but the idea came from Disney so they have to be acknowledged…for the final time._

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The scene before them was one of utter chaos. It took a few moments for Lizzie to sort out exactly what seemed to be going on: though there were guns being fired off everywhere in the sea of Union blue uniforms in front of the plantation, every shot was going harmlessly into the air. No one was fighting; in fact, the men seemed to be in the midst of some enormous giddy celebration. They were laughing and cheering and shouting. Everyone was smiling, even those who looked as if they had never allowed themselves a smile in their lives. Some of the men were even embracing, clapping one another delightedly on the back as they did so. No one took any notice of the small group of people peering out of one of the plantation house's curtained windows, staring at all the commotion. Since there seemed to be no danger, the group made its way to the front door and went to stand on the veranda.

"What in Heaven's name is going on?" Lizzie shouted over the noise. None of the men so much as glanced at her.

Lilah slipped herself out from under one of Lizzie's arms and vanished into the crowd for a few minutes. When she emerged, she bore a smile as large as any of the Union men behind her.

"The war be over," she said.

Lizzie's heart leaped. "Truly? The war's over at last?"

"Tha's what they're all sayin'. They say a messenger come t'tell 'em Genr'l Lee surrendered t'Genr'l Grant jus' days ago, praise duh Lor' Almighty."

"Thanks be to God," Lizzie and Colman said at the same time. They grinned tiredly at each other. All of them stood and watched the celebration for a few minutes more, soon to be joined by most of the rest of the household slaves. No one seemed to be able to quite take it in, that after so long the war was at last over, the North victorious.

Lizzie looked around at the slaves. "Do you know what this means? For you?"

"I know whatchoo thinkin'. But we done been freed already, Miz Lizzie," answered Josiah, with a look at Colman like an affectionate grandfather.

Lizzie looked at Colman with wonder in her eyes. He stared at the ground. "It was the least I could do," he mumbled. "And you were right. They didn't leave." If she'd had the strength, she would have hugged him, but she could not bring her tired muscles to do more than stare out over the crowd of celebrating men, and hope that this meant the best for Robert, too.

When the men began to drift away to their tents, no doubt to write jubilant letters to inform their families that they would be soon be home, Colman looked around at the assembled group on the porch. "Well, friends, much as I would love to observe the celebrations, I think if I stay here a minute more the odds are good I will fall over and embarrass us all. Would a few of you be good enough to help Miss Lizzie and me to our rooms?"

Within moments Lizzie was swept up into someone's strong arms, suspecting that they belonged to John but past caring so long as she didn't have to move, or think. She felt the gentle bumping that meant they were ascending to the second floor. Her head touched something soft, and then she knew nothing but blissful sleep.

When she awoke, she remained still with her eyes closed, simply enjoying the sensation of lying on a comfortable mattress again. Slowly she pushed herself upright and opened her eyes. Her room was just as she remembered it: spacious and grand and inviting. She started to get out of bed and winced. Despite the comfort of her night's sleep—or had it only been a night?—she was badly stiff from her strenuous days of riding. Her shoulder ached, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as it had once been. Peering to her left, Lizzie saw that the hurt shoulder had been re-dressed with clean white bandages while she slept. Her various scrapes and bruises were in differing states of recovery. She sighed. Healing from the adventures of that eventful night would take some time.

The door to her room creaked cautiously open. Lilah put her head in, and smiled when she saw Lizzie sitting on the edge of her bed. "So there you is, Miz Lizzie. We wuz startin' to worry 'bout you!"

Lizzie smiled. "I'm all right, thanks to you. How long was I asleep?"

"Two full days. Massah Colman's sleepin' still."

Lizzie tried not to show her disappointment. There were so many things she wanted to talk to him about.

"Donchoo worry. He should be wakin' up soon," Lilah said, having read the expression on Lizzie's face easily. Bustling about in her usual style, the older woman assisted Lizzie in dressing, then gave in to her insistence on eating breakfast in Colman's room.

Lizzie hesitated at the door to the room at the end of the hall. She had never been in this room; she had learned very early on in her stay that the door always remained locked. That had not presented a problem for Colman, of course, but it was a sharp deterrent to everyone else. Now, the door was cracked, ever so slightly.

"Did you have to pick the lock to get inside?" she whispered to Lilah.

"Naw. He remembered righ' where the key was hidden," Lilah whispered back. She pushed the door open wider for Lizzie to step inside.

"Wasn't it filthy, what with no one being allowed inside for years?" Lizzie asked, still hesitating.

"Sure, but we cleaned it out good. Now, d'you want tuh go in or no?" At this, Lizzie had no choice. She went in.

The room had clearly once been the master bedroom of the house; it had the look of being designed for two people instead of one. It was elegant and somber, full of dark polished woods and richly embroidered draperies. At the far end, set between two tall windows, was a curtained four-poster double bed. All of the curtains were drawn back and neatly tied with cords so that the single figure asleep in the bed was visible.

Lizzie swallowed down some nerves, feeling as if she were intruding into some private sanctuary. But she had insisted on coming here, and it was too late to back down now. She pulled up an upholstered chair beside the bed. Lilah reappeared a few moments later with breakfast, which was laid out on the nightstand. When she was finished, Lilah whisked the tray away again, leaving her alone with the sleeping Colman.

Lizzie watched him for a few minutes, just content to know that he was breathing steadily in and out. His face, from what she could see of it, was slightly thinner, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He also had a few days' growth of whiskers on his chin, another odd thing that she had to remind herself not to stare at. With the breaking of the curse, gone was the sense of being trapped in time that had once emanated from his whole being. She thought suddenly: _He can shave again, get his hair cut, pick up books, change clothes, run into things, eat and drink, and a thousand other things that he couldn't before…he can even kiss me._ She looked up dreamily into the bed's canopy, reliving the sensation of his lips on hers.

There was a light touch on her hand, and a tingle ran up her spine. She looked down into Colman's dark eyes.

"You're awake," she said with a smile. "How do you feel?"

"Battered," he croaked. He cleared his throat. "How long?"

"According to Lilah, two days. I just got up myself a little while ago." He tried push himself into a sitting position and winced, just as she had. Lizzie pressed him back down. "Stay there. I'll tell Lilah you've woken and have her fetch you some breakfast."

Once she had done so and settled back into the chair beside him, he reached out and took her hand, brushing the knuckles lightly with a kiss. She didn't pull back or object, so he settled their twined hands back onto the bed's coverlet. After a moment, he sighed. "I suppose you want an explanation."

"For what?" she asked, startled. "Your substantiality? You already explained that. The curse on you broke when I realized that I was in love with you. It stands to reason that you went back into your true body on the bier when that happened, which is how you ended up behind me in time to pull me out of the path of the bullet."

He blinked. "That saves some of what I was going to say. I was also going to tell you about…afterwards. The woman who healed me—"

"You know of her? I thought you were…gone…when she arrived."

"That's all a bit muddled in my head. I remember her being there, and asking me about you. It was dark, terribly dark. You took my hand, and she did something…" he gestured with his free hand towards his wounds. "That part isn't so clear. And then I was waking up, as if from a nightmare."

Lizzie looked at the coverlet to hide the glimmer of tears.

He noticed, and wiped them away with his thumb. "No need to cry. It's over, and I'm here." He leaned back. "How often in the past I wanted to dry your tears, and could not. It would take very little persuasion to convince me that this is in fact Heaven." There was a pause, and then he shook himself. "I did want to tell you something about that woman."

"She's the one who cursed you in the first place," Lizzie said in a low voice.

"She is. I remember that night now, only too clearly. Please don't ask me for details: not yet. I may tell you someday, but at the moment the thought of who I was then only fills me with shame." She could see him swallow. "But you do need to know this. The woman in white…the one who cursed me, the one who healed me…she is also my mother."

"Your _mother_? How could a mother do such a cruel thing to her own child?" Thinking back, the woman had given hints as to her identity in their brief time together.

Colman was silent for a long moment. "I can only assume the dead see things in a different light than the living. And I am grateful to her. Without her, without her curse, I would still be the same selfish, unfeeling man I once was." His eyes caught hers and held them. "And I would never have met you."

She was still kissing him when Lilah walked in with Colman's breakfast tray. The elderly woman, master that she was at concealing her emotions, kept her face blank as slate. She did wink at Lizzie once before departing, but that was all the hint she gave that she'd seen anything out of the ordinary. Lizzie shook her head fondly after she left. "I don't think anything could blindside that woman. She'd take an earthquake in stride and not bat an eyelash."

Colman didn't answer; after a moment of silence Lizzie turned to look at him. He was staring at the tray of food on his lap with an expression akin to awe.

"What's the matter? Did you forget how to eat?" she teased.

"No, it isn't that, but I'm pleased to hear you have such a high opinion of my memory. It's just that this will be the first meal I've ever been able to eat in over five years. I want to savor the moment."

There was nothing Lizzie could say to that. She let him eat in peace without pestering him to talk around his food. He didn't eat much, but she could tell from the expression on his face that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he finally pushed the tray away, Lizzie picked it up and made for the door. "I'll leave you alone to make yourself decent," she said when he opened his mouth to protest. "I'll be in the library when you're ready." She left.

Her first stop was to the kitchen, to deposit the tray. There she learned that the soldiers in camp were getting uneasy without their commander, and that Captain Redgrave himself, who had been placed on a cot near the kitchen fire, had not yet woken or even stirred. The fool had not thought to bring anything close to a trained healer with him; apparently he had not expected enough opposition that any of his men might be injured. Lizzie took this news to the library to ponder, while she sat with an open book in her lap. She was still sitting that way an hour later when Colman found her.

Her first indication of his presence was a muffled _thump_ at the door, followed by a noise that sounded like a stifled curse.

"Try the handle," she called sweetly.

The handle turned and Colman entered, glaring at her. "Very amusing." It was strange to see him in anything other than his cream shirt and dark slacks and boots. Now he wore brown leather shoes, a different pair of slacks, and a shirt dyed a deep blue that brought out the violet in his eyes. He had shaved, which made him look slightly more like his old self, though Lizzie noted a few spots that might have been nicks born of an out-of-practice hand.

She smiled at the picture he made. "You look very dashing."

He posed heroically for her for a few seconds, then sobered. "We need to make several quick decisions. The servants have just informed me that Captain Redgrave has expired."

"He was still unconscious not an hour ago," Lizzie exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Have the soldiers been told?"

"They have not. Apparently he took a turn for the worse just before I came downstairs. What do you think we should do about this?"

Lizzie thought hard. At last, she said, "We should tell the soldiers as soon as possible. Whoever replaces him as commander might be more open to reason, especially now that the war is over. The men will be wanting to return to camp."

"That is what I'd hoped you'd say." He folded his arms. "What do you want to tell them happened to him? If we say the wrong thing, we could all end up under arrest."

"I hate to lie, especially since it was I who delivered the blow, but you're right. It will cause far more trouble than it's worth to tell the truth. Blast the scoundrel! He's still causing grief even after he's dead." She racked her brains. "Tell them he took a bad fall down the cellar ladder while searching the house. It's close enough to the truth, and likely in the dark. And it isn't as if we didn't do all in our power. We certainly didn't leave him down there to die alone. It's his own fault he didn't see fit to bring a physician. Lilah is an amazing woman with herbs, but she's not a magic-worker or a surgeon."

"Very true. All right, it can't hurt. Come, let's get this over with." He held out an arm to her, then hesitated. "Will you be going back with the soldiers, should they decide to leave? I know you have your brother to care for."

Lizzie blinked. "If that is the case, then I will go back with them. But not permanently. I won't lose you again, and here is as good a place as any for Robert to recover."

"What if he refuses to come? I doubt he's forgotten his last ordeal here."

"I'll convince him. I don't know what on earth I'd say, but somehow I'll do it."

"Perhaps it might help if…if you told him he has no choice if he wishes to witness his sister's wedding?"

"What?" Lizzie stared as Colman went down on one knee before her. Then her brain caught up with her, and she began to smile. "You are quite the sly thing, Colman Whisper. I'll have my hands full keeping you in line."

"You have your work cut out for you there." He winked, then smoothed his face out. "Elizabeth Bellevue, I love you more than anything. Will you make me the happiest of men and become my bride?"

She managed to keep her own face solemn for only a second, in time to say her own part of the ritual. "Of course I will. I'm surprised you even need ask." He stood, and they shared a brief kiss.

"Propriety, you know. And what would you have done if I'd prepared a wedding while you were gone and not at least asked you first?" He offered his arm again, and she took it.

"I'd have slapped you, for starters. Now that I can." She pinched his arm, lightly.

He gave her a wounded look, which just made her laugh. Arm in arm, they left the room.

_"And did they get married?" This question was part of the ritual, something the girl had asked every time the story was told since she was old enough to form the sentence._

_"They did marry, after she went and fetched her brother, as promised," her father answered, completing his part in the ritual. "Their wedding was the first formal event in years, and marked a beginning of rebuilding and reconciliation for the entire area after the war. Her brother recovered from his starvation, eventually moving back to Pennsylvania. He took up his printing business, and married a girl from their hometown. But they always exchanged many quantities of letters and occasional visits. Thus the years passed peacefully for them all."_

_"And did they live happily ever after? Colman and Lizzie?"_

_Her father smiled. "I believe they did. They had their disagreements, just as they did before, but they always were able to sort out their differences with little harm to both sides. Eventually they had children, who were their great pride and joy, though sometimes caused them no little amount of exasperation. And now it's time you went to sleep, or your mother will be coming after me for keeping you awake when you need your rest."_

_"All right, Papa. Good night." She yawned widely and turned on her side, pulling the covers up to her chin and closing her eyes peacefully._

_"Good night, dear one. Sleep well." He waited until he was certain she was sound asleep, then kissed her gently on the cheek. After stroking one curl gently with a finger, he made his way downstairs._

_His wife waited for him before a warm fire, their infant son in her arms. She slid over to make room on the couch for her husband, taking care not to wake the sleeping child. "What was the story tonight?" she asked him as he settled beside her._

_"The same story I tell every night," he replied with a kiss for the baby and then for her. "Ours."_

**The End**

* * *

_Author's Note: Ta-da! I had one last surprise up my sleeve for you faithful readers. This is really the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it._

_History Note: By the time the Civil War was over on April 9__th__ 1865, General Sherman's troops had moved all the way to Raleigh, North Carolina after devastating the Carolina coast. I decided to ignore this fact and imagine that they camped on the coast of Georgia for the remainder of the war for the sake of simplicity. I also chose not to mention Lincoln's assassination by John Wilkes Booth a few days after the war ended because I thought it would add a sour note to an otherwise satisfactory ending. I hope the readership doesn't mind. I did my best under the circumstances, and have tried to be as accurate as possible whenever possible. If I changed something big, I tried to let you know._

_Acknowledgements! Songs (aka my snazzy chapter titles):_

_1. The Bonnie Blue Flag (Chapters 1 & 10)_

_2. Battle Hymn of the Republic (Chapters 2, 7, 8, 9, 19 & 22)_

_3. Marching Through Georgia (Chapter 3)_

_4. Riding a Raid (Chapter 4)_

_5. Dixie Land (Chapters 5 & 6)_

_6. Old Abe Lincoln Came Out of the Wilderness (Chapter 11)_

_7. We Are Marching on to Richmond (Chapter 12)_

_8. The Southern Wagon (Chapter 13)_

_9. Oh Freedom (Chapter 14)_

_10. Go Down Moses (Chapter 15)_

_11. Aura Lee (Chapter 16)_

_12. When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again (Chapters 17 and 21)_

_13. Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (Chapter 18)_

_14. The Last Fierce Charge (Chapter 20)_

_People:_

_**Cywyllog (and Mordred):**__ What can I say? Best roommate(s) ever. They previewed almost every chapter and told me what was and wasn't working._

_**All My Reviewers, for any and all chapters: **__EmeraldShine, ZOey89, NordyGirl, Stahlut, Liliane, teardrop456, Market Square Heroes, Jewel-Gurl73, bellamegs, El Corazon Sangriento, brunette-barbie14, Erisah Mae, Earthia, QueenIsuralia, Xeven, vixon I, Blue Cloud Eyes, glennie, sueariel, tigersmeleth, Tami, BookRose, gigglen, Lildevilatspoiledrottenbb, Tonyboy, Kayasuri-n, arieslilie, aureusangel, and emeraldoni. You are all great!!! Some of you carried over from Nightingale, and some of you joined along the way, but thanks to _all_ of you. For those who stuck through all the way to the end, congratulations and an artillery salute. You are the best of the best._

_**To all you silent readers out there who didn't review: **__Thanks for reading, even though I didn't get to know you. Hope you at least thought it was worth your time. If it was, and you don't chose to tell me, I'm still honored._

_**The Pennsylvania College Guard: **__My reenacting unit. Most of what I know about the Civil War, camp life, and civilian life in general has been gleaned from my hours with them. Though they will probably never read this, I must acknowledge that I could never have done it without them, especially Dave, Nancy and Skye (Military Commander, Civilian Coordinator, and Historian, respectively)._

_I have no idea where to go from here. If I get hit with a bolt of inspiration I may start writing a new story, but who knows when that will happen. The muse strikes where she pleases. The possibility of a joint story with another author has been put forward. In the meantime, check out my other work on fanfiction and fictionpress._

_Over and out (again),_

_SamoaPhoenix9_


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